


I fell in deep when you touched my skin

by The_Otter_Knight



Series: 2k18 - Potentially Getting Sequels [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Heterochromia au, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Alteration, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, Sorry Not Sorry, colourblind au, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 12:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Otter_Knight/pseuds/The_Otter_Knight
Summary: Connor wasn't like most Androids. Aside from the fact that he was a prototype --the first of his kind and designed for the DPD-- that was. He couldn't see colour.Until the mission that hecould.Because suddenly seeing colour apparently meant that he had a soulmate.





	I fell in deep when you touched my skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecretlyADog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretlyADog/gifts).
  * Inspired by [For You, I Was Strong](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556596) by [SecretlyADog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretlyADog/pseuds/SecretlyADog). 



> _Is this really a 27.5k soulmate angst fic about Connor/Reader?_  
>  Yes. Yes it is.  
> Buckle up kids it's going to be a (probably tame) ride. It will feature very few, in any, plot twists. Probably.
> 
> Okay but before you delve in, I would like to address any potential issues: I have only watched _thirty minutes_ of a DBH playthrough and some scattered clips throughout. I saved myself for when I got it (I do, have it, that is. Now.) To bide my time, I created this monstrosity.
> 
> As such I have _very minimal_ knowledge about this game or their personalities beyond what was told to me. It was proofed by a friend, Qarry, to whom I thank sincerely for. To which this might never have seen light of day (because of great worry of mischaracterization).
> 
> The other "issue" is that this is a different sort of soulmate au. It borrows from one other fic that I read but is very scarcely brushed upon. For all intents and purposes, and for clarification, for anything to possess a soulmate it must possess a soul. There is always at least one human in the match up. The bond is always the same on both ends: if one has heterochromia so does the other.  
> It is super unlikely for one to feel platonicly and the other to feel romantic senses but _does_ happen. Not everyone has a soulmate. Soulmates are buried together or as closeby as possible. Multiple soulmates are possible but no _unrequited ones_ (that draws to the "same bond" comment). Being bonded to an inanimate object is possible. (Yes, it is still classified as having a soul. There are some laws that protect such objects from being destroyed except by natural means.)  
>  _A pair of soulmates will always meet, even if it means in death._ That is very rare, however, and it is most common for at least one party to be alive. This can lead to unfortunate situations where you attend a funeral and find your soulmate in the person inside the casket. You can live without your soulmate/move on past them. Happiness does not depend on a soulmate. Not all soulmates have healthy relationships but most do.  
>  The world of soulmates is not brushed heavily upon in the fic so I chose to clarify just in case it was needed.
> 
> Qarry was not the only one to help me. The real gold medal would go to Cin. To whom this fic would not have been born. There would _be_ no fic to see said light of day without her. (In part because we wrote our fics alongside each other but mostly due to the fact that it was she who properly introduced me to DBH.) She has been nothing but patient and kind and through mutual cheering for each other we present to you our soulmate au duo. As such, this is very much an au/fanfic of her work (which has a much happier ending) and you may find it through one of two links present on this page. (The "inspired by" and the "gifted to" links that is.)  
>  So please, if you either prefer a happy and fluffy fic or want to see the sister piece of this, please please go read her's. It is by gosh the greatest thing that I have ever read. It is pure and _light_ and _hopeful_.  
>  If you are to read _one fic_ and only one of the soulmate variety, I ask you to read hers.  
>  To Cin: thank you for putting up with both me and my bs. <3 You're the best.
> 
> The title was taken from SHY Martin's Lose You Too.

Connor’s third mission went a little less than expected.

He thought of it most often when he was able to, rewound his own footage to review it, to assess it - not for what he could have done better but just for his own personal reasons. If he dreamed, it might have crept in there, a thing of promises and dread. It was the one that has so far left the biggest impression on him, had threatened him with dismantlement, was the one that haunted his steps for each new mission he took afterwards.

It had been the one where he had found you.

He could recall the first time he saw you, could recall the exact shade that had pulsed beneath your skin. Detroit was quiet for once, about as quiet as one could expect from an overpopulated city. He has known only the bustle of it, the thrum of the city at its finest.  
  
Hope is a thing drilled into him from the beginning - something that is placed so deeply within his core and mechanics that he it could not easily be overwritten by coding. It would help keep his stability, especially with the things that he saw everyday as he did with his occupation. Hope for something  _after_ all the pain and torment. Without it, he might have crumpled if he were anything but an Android - if he had been a Deviant, perhaps.

Connor stepped forward and took note of his surroundings. The sunlight dappled through the summer trees and a few leaves skittered across his path - the sky a pleasant shade of  _`[colour located: blue]`_  . He flicked his gaze towards it, watched the subtle shift of clouds through the atmosphere. He could feel a sense of ease as he watched it all pass by - a small sense of wonder that he  _could_ , that he was built to view it as he was. Small things like that tended to pique his interest - a small glimpse of all the good things left in the world.

The scene he walked onto was anything but. The other police members on the case gave him a nod at best, a look of revulsion at worst and he took it in stride, took little note of them. “Hello, I am Connor, the Android sent by CyberLife. I am here to help assist,” he introduced himself as he tapped the senior officer on scene.  
  
The officer backed off, eyes far more than wary and guarded. Connor knew that he had to have been there due to a Deviant but his capabilities to assist would extend past that. CyberLife would not waste time nor effort to send him somewhere where he was not needed. He tried for a smile, the expression easy to fall onto his face but perhaps the  _humanness_ of it set the other off. Their look of wariness turned sharply into unease.

“The other Android is over there,” the officer retorted, took a step back to create distance. Connor’s smile faltered, swayed completely then fell. So that was how it was. He could feel a hum in his body, the familiar tone as his LED shifted to the well-documented orange. Not that he has ever seen it.  
  
His gaze followed the finger, noticed the Android by the curb, LED a dark and angry hue. Connor sighed, straightened his tie then strode over, careful to avoid contact with the few cops who glared at him feverently. He did not want to coerce them into aiding him when they looked just as likely to assault him.

He approached the fellow Android, watched them watch him back. He was reluctant to admit that they looked like a Deviant, could see the jagged edges and broken shards that humans saw in them if he tilted his head just enough. Connor crouched and made certain not to initiate unwarranted contact. “You did not need to be detained,” he spoke. It was odd to say the least.

The Android nodded, its eyes cast upon the body in the street. Connor turned his gaze there. Its blood pooled around its chest like a hula-hoop laid flat. He glanced back. The Android’s expression was fairly stricken, full lips pulled down into an exaggerated frown.  
  
In its eyes did Connor see the Deviantness, the blades of emotions and how jaded it was. The eyes of someone who had lost hope. Connor has seen it enough in his line of work, in the world’s victims and those who had suffered too much. An Android turned Deviant not by choice but by situation - but a Deviant nonetheless.

“No,” the Android spoke and above the mechanical vibrations that he could detect, he heard a familiar overturn of masculinity. The Android turned his head just slightly in inclination towards Connor but his eyes never strayed from the corpse once yet. “I did not cause this - I would not have hurt them. So I didn’t need to be - ...” His trailed off then, not reluctant but certainly at a loss for words.

Connor frowned. In his mind, he struggled with the very definition of Deviant - there were the tell tale signs of Deviancy in his stature, in the very way that he spoke, the shuffle-click of his tongue against teeth. Connor had never before been sent to handle an Android who had Deviated but remained with its owner. This was most unusual. Deviants usually attacked the humans. His head tilted and -  _`[software instability]`_   _-_ he closed his eyes.  
  
“I see,” he spoke. The only solution as to why he was brought here was to assure that the Android was sent back to CyberLife then. His location and recovery skills so far had been remarked upon positively. If he simply had the Android comply it would go a lot smoother and quicker. “You know you’ll have to come back with me, don’t you?”

That was when the Android turned to properly look at him and his pupils contracted against the filtration of the sun and a bit of hyperfocus on him. His expression tightened into something alike to disapproval and anguish, so  _human_ that Connor almost would have thought that they should have sent a human in his stead. Androids dealt with Androids though. “I will not leave them,” the Android spoke finally, his voice objective and low. His bloodied knuckles tightened around his knees. He jerked his chin towards the body. “I want to be with them. Until the very end.”

Connor let out a breath. A Deviant who had utmost loyalty to their owner … he shook his head. He wasn’t quite amazed but certainly knew it was out of his predictions for the case. It surely had to be a farce. He turned his gaze back, let the statistics run through his mind:  _`[67% chance of success]`_  . Alright. He’d gather more intel.  
  
He stood up, clasped a hand on his shoulder, barely paid attention as his own hand melded into the familiar distorted pale skeletal structure before he took a step back. “I’ll be back,” he smiled then and unlike with the humans the Android barely batted an eye at it - merely set his jaw and turned his head back to the original angle. Without Connor’s presence he seemed to have adapted an expression devoid of nearly anything. If the Android were Human, he might have guessed shock.

` _[New objective: retrieve information.]_ `

“What happened?” Connor’s voice carried well enough along the street, barely silenced the small chatter of some passersby as they stopped to look. The senior officer gave him a wide berth in lieu of an answer and Connor turned his questioning gaze upon another officer. She faltered under his look but her eyes sharpened quickly once his question registered.

“Some protestors got too frisky and involved the Android and the kid,” the officer pointed to the few humans handcuffed, the Android, and the remains on the pavement in order. “Or that’s what I gather from eye-witnesses that is.”  _`[Partial information attained.]`_  Connor nodded, extended a hand towards the cuffed aggressors.

“Would they be willing to speak with me?”

“When they’re already going to jail for second degree murder, assault of an Android  _and_ destruction of government property?” The woman smirked, “Please. Give me another charge to lay on them.” Connor frowned long enough for her to roll her eyes at him and make a rough shooing motion with her hands. “Skat. Go deal with the Android. Wouldn’t let us handle him, so  _you -_ handle him.” Her smirk became a sneer pretty fast, “It’s all the good you ‘droids are at anyways.”

His programming didn’t allow for the jibe to sink in, for it to settle and to ebb at his consciousness, but he felt it just at the edges there all the same. He shouldn’t consider the implication of her words, should let them roll off of him but -  _`[software--]`_  - no. He jerked his head away. He had a mission to complete - this woman was only in his way. Not an obstacle to be destroyed but to be considered then shuffled aside. Her help was no longer required. “Thank you,” he informed her and she only squinted at him in response.

He barely spared a glance at the nameless Android, could only focus on the human remains now. Bodies like that barely affected him - he knew to expect it, especially in his line of work, so it barely hit home as the saying went, in fact it rarely even registered beyond something his visuals picked up on. As part of his operating start up he was tasked to overview photos of different rates of decomposition, to overview field work and how to operate solo.  
  
His shoes scuffed across the ground, a noise that startled him more than it should have. He recalculated, adjusted his weight, then settled into a crouch similar to the one that he had used with the Android. He turned his attention to the body completely.

A plain pair of jeans, faded around the knees and well-worn by the defined threading on the sides. Scuff-marked shoes with soles grated down, so plenty of use as well. Definitely more comfort orientated than fashionable as it were - were they off on a quick errand? He sighed at the sight - if the media caught wind they would surely fawn over their age, bemoan about their lost youth. Spin it so that the Deviant was in the wrong surely. He didn’t have a problem with it - just wished that his position didn’t exist, that the world might have had no use for him. Of course it would always need him.  
  
He patted down their body, checked their position, let his eyes roam around for the weapon. Of course it laid there, discarded yet. He reached over, already had analyzed its position and how far it had been thrown. A dark shadow of blood was drawn across the blade - his calculations drew the conclusion that a good three inches had been pressed into their body at the least. He could figure out the exact amount of time it took for them to die with that data alone.  
  
The blood hadn’t congealed very well along the blade nor anywhere else along the pavement - it still wasn’t as tacky as it could have been. Then again he had been called almost immediately, hadn’t he? He ran his index along the edge, let the blood rest against his tongue after. He analyzed the blood type immediately, the amount of red and white blood cells, any blood mutations and anything that would affect the blood count. Definitely human. He might have guessed that from the off-grey tone different from Thirium T13.

He adjusted his stance to better eye the body, to observe the dark spread of blood along the grey tones of dusted pavement. He pressed his fingers to the shredded shirt, felt the dampness of blood there. It was nice material but probably tore easily beneath the blade. He touched the frayed edges and felt the thin threads there. He count mentally count five incisions if not more. Fairly shallow so they were issued swiftly. It meant it likely wasn’t premeditated then.  
  
Connor let the edges drop, brushed his fingertips along the pockets to check for ID. He withdrew a wallet from the unzipped jacket, flicked open to the available cards. Name, birthday, height, all other available information. A few of the others detailed a bit of the Android’s information - a permit to own as issued by a doctor. Not registered directly to the victim then. Peculiar.

Connor pocketed the case and thought to give it to the Android - Alex, if the license was to be believed. A quick scan had been in agreement of authenticity. He did not lack respect for the dead however, brushed his fingers against the flat expanse of their palms to ease them into a different position - and promptly stopped.

The calmed flush of blood was more readily available to his vision. The cool press of acute grey against the coat, the blue of the jeans. He saw it all, the first hues and shades that he had ever witnessed before in his short life. He dropped their -  _your -_ hand and slowly stood up.

_`[Software Instability.]` _

**_`[Software Instability.]` _ **

**_`[S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y .]` _ **

His fingers clenched, curled into his fists. He closed his eyes, listened to Amanda’s warning hum at the back of his consciousness. When he opened them again the first burst of colour that he noticed was the shock of blood around you, enough spilled to have cemented your fate. [Red], his mind supplied, so unlike the stark contrast of the metallic blue of Android blood. Connor’s gaze flicked towards your face, the angle of your cheekbones, the press of hair against skin, left there by dried sweat. The gentle tone of your shirt, most likely your favourite colour he would guess, and the curt press of the jacket around your body.

His breathing almost stuttered in his chest.  _`[Search with keywords: Android, human, colour, colourblind, touch… Search failed.]`_  His gaze wavered but his posture remained sure, unable to fail in his mission  _`[Retrieve the Deviant]`_ , unable to allow the humans to see him like this. His  _`[brown]`_  eyes roved across your face one final time, as if to etch it into his memory processors, as if he blinked long enough you might fade out of existence. He knew better. He always knew better.

Alex the Android watched him as he walked back with lack of want to turn his back on your prone figure. The distance wasn’t great, covered in short but fluid strides of his legs, some form of auto-pilot was determined to get him to his goal. His mind flicked back, a betrayal to all that he stood for. So what if the person who had given him colour was  _dead?_

` _[Software instability.]_ `

“Hello again,” Connor greeted and Alex tipped his head. Brown eyes blinked at him,  _aware_ and still very much uncertain and jaded. “Alex, isn’t it?” Not a question at this point, an assured fact. The Android had very few minutes to reacquaint himself with a new name. Connor would have noticed if any humans had approached him for such a task. “I’m sure we could talk this over.” Connor placed his trademark smile back on his face, felt his body adjust to the sensation as easily as a glove - that is, if he was used to gloves. He never had need of them, didn’t see the purpose, as fingerprintless as he was. Perhaps it might have rid him of the infernal itch that your clammy skin had given him.

“You still look as confused as before,” Alex supplied with a tired sigh, and the red LED on the flat of his temple blinked into yellow almost reluctantly. His eyes tracked Connor this time, for once away from you, from the purpose you had given him.

Connor’s smile tightened. “Will you come back to CyberLife with me? I was sent to retrieve you.”

Alex’s expression did not waver, his eyes gave no cues to violence or resilience. As grave as ever. “Will they be left here?” He demanded, voice low and all the more mechanical with each word. The auburn of the light proved his emotional state. Connor remained firm.

“No. That is one of the few things that I can promise you.”

“But I can’t be buried with them?”

“It’s not usual.”

“But  _you could,”_ and the tone of voice has enough implications for even Connor to pick up on without aid of his mental processors. Connor was a newer model, had less years out in the field than the older Android but even he couldn’t miss the tone. Why would Connor have wanted to be buried with a human?

“I do not understand,” he replied. Because he  _didn’t,_ not the full of it. Only knew that the colours meant something else, something unique, something  _almost_ Deviant. Not quite an error in coding but an error in the universe. A mistake that wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Your expression when you touched them gave you away. I know what it means; I’ve seen it before,” Alex spoke and then there was a smile. His skin pulled in at the folds of his mouth, full and bright and surprisingly kind. Connor was baffled at this strange display of sympathy and lack of untoward motives. “I am sorry that you had to meet this way.” Connor could not say that he understood but he felt the tendrils of memories - not his own, other Connors and Androids out there, ones who could  _see_ \- brush against him even then.

“I am sure you are mistaken,” and then he stood, let his hands rest by his sides and felt the press of a slightly wet forefinger brush against his palm as his digits curled in. Your blood. He took a breath, let his body recalculate his weight and adjusted accordingly - he could not afford to feel faint now. “I was not sent here to meet anyone, I was sent by CyberLife to retrieve you. A Deviant.”

The Deviant frowned then with his whole face and not just his mouth. Connor watched the pull of muscles at the corner of his eyes, the forlorn flash of apologies and anguish dart across his eyes before it settled into every subtle shift of his body below. He stood, black shirt even darker now that Connor could see the dark tint of brown in his skin, the pale of his pants. He lacked the trademark Android jacket but the cuff of his left arm sleeve made up for it, a shock of neon blue that Connor knew would match his own. “I will go without a fight,” he offered, “only if you keep my memories for me.”

“They are not yours,” Connor spoke quickly with a lack of understanding etched into his voice.

Alex smiled in bemusement and pity. “No, I suppose not.” He extended his arm anyways and Connor did not hesitate. He knew his orders by CyberLife, knew the debriefing as surely as he knew how his own parts worked. He knew it just like he knew the brush of wind on his skin, the freckles of brown in the sidewalks. He would not Deviate from his orders.

Connor’s hand shimmered, accepted the data transfer: the copy of data that was gifted to him. CyberLife would retrieve these memories as they were but directly from the source - Connor knew well enough what the Android asked of him, wondered if he could complete such a task. The company would not be pleased to learn that he had them but unless there were rebellion plans among the files, the contents would matter little to them.

He knew almost everything about this other Android completely upon touch alone - an MP600, medical services with the digits #257-368-907, government issue and distributed for personal use by licensed doctors. Connor filed all of the information away into a folder. He would analyze it later, determine its use. Hand it over to CyberLife if Amanda asked it of him.

“Let me rest with them,” Alex asked, all mechanical whirs and horrific chitters. How long had he gone without recharging?

“I can try,” Connor promised - but it was with the full knowledge that his promise very well may lie flat. Broken. He cast a glance towards your body, ignored the warning vibe and wanely smiled in your direction, apologetic for everything. He would like to ingrain your features into his mind forever but knew that his own memories were not for him to keep either. CyberLife would do with them what they would. The both of you were only designed to be used, weren’t you?

The ride back to CyberLife was largely uneventful, quiet as they stood at the back of the vehicle. The Android did not need to be encaged and instead obediently trailed in front of him at Connor’s prompts and barely uttered so much as a word in protest. Or at all in fact. Connor was used to the silence, the familiar tone where his mechanic heart was the only sound. The ride back by himself was void of loneliness, content with his own company - and the presence of the others’ memories just at the edge.

He did not tell anything to Amanda, did not step into the Zen Garden nor even feel a prompt from her. His room was absent of personality, quiet and things set neatly aside orderly. He roomed closeby enough to the debriefing room that they could recall him verbally if they needed to, enough for them to find comfort and solace in the fact. He sat on his bed, let his fingers twine together as he rested his elbows atop his knees. He  _should_ inform Amanda of the Deviant’s choice, his subsequent choice to accept it, but he hesitated.

Connor stared down at his hands, the tiny tendrils of blue that raced across his wrists, the subtle pop of artificial bone against his skin, such a warm tone from the usual grey that he has witnessed. Connor has always  _\- always -_ only viewed things in monochrome. He overrode this easily, his visuals would report and deduce the colour easily for him with an informative line of code. But he has never seen it for himself.

He could see now the baby blue of the walls, the flat tiled grey beneath his feet. The dark navy curtains as they blocked the full intensity of the sun out - made of some sort of soft material, both for show and comfort if he moved his hand across it. He could see a sliver of pale waxy sunlight as it filtered through the curtains and cut across the floor. The shadows took shape, form, a clarity that he hadn’t truly paid attention to until now.

All because of you.

He closed his eyes, let himself exhale softly and slowly. A notion that he didn’t truly need but brought him comfort then. To think of the way you  _looked_ , sprawled there as you did, the copper tone of your blood against the breast of your shirt. The torn flesh, ruddy and ragged. The touch of warmth that lingered beneath your skin, the heavy press of the knife in his hands.

He could not have missed you if he had never met you. That was an assured fact, something that he knew with an assured clarity. No, perhaps that was not what he felt towards you - perhaps it was a reluctant longing, an undeniable curiosity on who you were, why you had done this to him. So many questions that he couldn’t hope you would answer but perhaps something that someone  _else_ could.

Connor could not remain negligent of his own duties, could only feign innocence for so long - the fact that he hadn’t initially done it spoke volumes but nothing that he could not handle. He has already been shipped back once after all.

He sent back a notification message, let it shift through the folds that made up the Zen Garden. Amanda would wish to talk with him, there was little room for doubt of that fact, but his curiosity has always been his most damnable offense. Connor reviewed his battery life, surmised that he could handle a couple hours of footage before he was required to recharge. He carefully settled into a more relaxed position. It wasn’t much of an adjustment - perhaps, on some subconscious level, his processors had already made the choice for him.

` _[Video and Audio Retrieval: success. Processing … success. Confidential information detected. Removal complete. Footage ready. Footage commencing.]_ `

Connor has only reviewed memory recalls a handful of times at best outside of initial start up and even then though memories were of other RK800 units. It did not disorientate him overly well as his mind usually calculated and adjusted to compensate. However the downside to the situation had been that his body would otherwise go into a sort of stasis until he had finished.

His memories were of Alex, of course - a given that that was who the memories were from - but it had been Alex as he was  _before_. There wasn’t even white noise for that fraction of time, not even the inner beat of thirium as it coursed inside his veins. Pure and utter silence - it stifled him, set his caution alarms on high alert. His vision was solid black for a moment before it settled in. His visuals kicked in first.  
  
The couch was rough, coarse from years of use and the socks on his feet saved him from the few dust bunnies that he saw scattered about. He could even smell the permeance in the air, the subtle shift of edible to slightly burnt. The place was small, in the midst of sizes between tiny apartment and a condo. The walls were a musty brown, more vivid in colour than he had ever seen. Even when he viewed another’s memories before, colours didn’t blink through as they did, so something had undoubtedly changed since he had met you. It had been a problem that CyberLife had dropped on their attempts to solve before. It hadn’t really interfered before with his success ratings.

Sunlight touched the specks of natural dust in the air as they spiraled lazily around, curtains drawn back to reveal the full of the sun. Connor wanted to turn to towards it, to inspect the rings of light as it filtered through. He did not, could not. Immobile as Connor was, he was trapped within the actions of memories long since set. History cannot be adjusted.

 _“-with some cheese, is that okay?”_ The audio had clicked in then, not even subtle in its intensity. It switched dramatically, silent as the grave then embodied with life and frivolity the next. Somewhere, from the dark recesses of his mind from where he dwelled as spectator Connor breathed in surprise.  
  
Detroit has always been noisy as far as he had known and peaceful moments were far and few in between. Nothing quite like this tranquil atmosphere. He could still hear it now, the roar of buses and vehicles outside. The barking of a dog. Connor has always liked dogs, the vibration of their barks in their chest, the smattering of fur along their bodies, how happy they were to see him, even when the humans weren’t. They had held no judgement for Androids like him.

 _“Yeah, that sounds good,”_ Alex spoke as he turned his head.

Your head appeared around the corner and Alex took quick note of your appearance as his eyes roved your face. Hair dishevelled and bags were prominent beneath your eyes, dark bruises of lack of sleep. The points of interest flagged up, recorded as they were, and Connor could only watch as it listed:  _`[Still not sleeping well.]`_   _“Anything I can do to help?”_

 _`[Status: uneasy.]`_  Apparently the words were said with too much meaning, too much crass emotions behind the blow. Connor felt Alex’s mouth muscles twitch up in response, a submissive tactic meant to disarm. Your arms crossed and you leaned more against the full of the door frame. Your nervousness didn’t fluctuate but it hadn’t lowered a great deal either.  
  
_“If you want to get some ice cubes out of the freezer, sure.”_ You words were probably an appeasement to find middle ground - to plead as Switzerland - but your eyes flit, genuine and curious and  _vulnerable_. Connor knew how to placate people. It was written into his coding sharply and precisely; it was what was supposed to make him an excellent negotiator. Connor knew better than to push in such a tentative situation.

 _“I can do that,”_ Alex spoke and stood up, the visual feed skittered down to the floor for that split second but Connor noticed enough. A relaxation of your shoulders, a thankful smile. Perhaps he had noticed the edges of your expressions in a different manner than Connor had.

The audio cut out first as his footsteps moved muffled across the floor and with it all that Connor had seen. The room faded into an intense black. It hadn’t even been grainy or pixelated like bad footage but rather just a solid emptiness. The next memory was introduced far more easily, a slow descent into the scene, slightly muffled but not outright blunt until it came through clearly. He wondered if that was his sensors as they adjusted to the foreign input.

Connor recognized the surrounding area as one of the schoolyards in downtown Detroit. He could spot a few instructor Androids as spoke softly to some adults nearby. A couple of children kicked a ball back and forth, void of markings typically attributed to sports balls. Both Connor and Alex had focused on the sway of the grass, the subtle bend where sneakers once tread across dewed blades.  _“You told me you wanted to know more about me, didn’t you?”_ Your voice was pleasant but unsure and they both turned their attention to you.

You stood there with your fingers interwoven with the chainlink fence. Your brows were pinched together and mouth quirked pitifully.  _“Yes.”_ More breath than word, a question. An answer.

You licked your lips, a slow motion that spoke volumes of your nervousness. Your fingers tightened around the links a bit more forcefully and only at his prompt did your gaze flick over towards him.  _“It’s all easy in my mind, how I want to say this. How easy it could be -_ should  _be. I know it is. I_ know  _it is.”_ You let out a hurried breath, as if you might not get the words out fast enough,  _“The children didn’t like me, not that they had any reason to. But I … tried to befriend them. It didn’t work out.”_

Silence was the only option here it seemed. Connor would have chosen different, would have spoken up, brushed the tentativeness aside, blunt in his way to find the truth. He had tact, of course he did, but things were easier when the truth was out there. This he knew. Alex apparently thought differently.  _No wonder he was a Deviant,_ Connor thought suddenly.  _If he acted this way. Medical ‘droids would have picked up on these things._

 _“Children can be cruel,”_ Alex’s voice spoke and Connor dropped all thoughts.  _“They can be unkind. What did they do to you?”_

A slower blink, more question than actual hurt. Your jaw clenched, unclenched, before you let out a shaky sigh. A rumble of a laugh weakly skittered past your lips. Red-rimmed eyes turned on him, irises shadowed by eyelashes.  _“They promised to befriend me if I could tell them what colour the sky was.”_

 _“The sky?”_ The world shifted with the head tilt. Connor felt a question bleed through his mind about questions that needed answers. The truth behind why you mattered so much to this Android, this Android who had insisted to rest alongside you. Why the colour of the sky mattered so much.

_“It has always been grey to me.”_

Alex had not looked towards the sky then, not even so much of a glance. He hadn’t needed to. Beyond you, where the sunlight torched your hair with golden light, he could see the fragile patches of blue beyond. For Connor, it had also been grey before he had met you.

Amanda, in the end, was the one to draw him out. He could feel her presence there, at the ebbs of what passed for his consciousness. Even within someone else’s memory he could feel the touches of her nearby. What CyberLife did with the files were of little concern to him. That was his passing thought before he, as Alex, turned his head - and the memory fractured, disrupted by the action that was never performed and Connor found himself in the Zen Garden.

His posture was reminiscent of the one he had assumed on his bed. Far too casual for the likes of Amanda who was all properness and etiquette. She turned, expression as still as a lake. He could tell that she knew by the subtle inclination of her head, the arch of her mouth. A petal spiraled down, skidded past the swell of her cheek.  
  
Connor watched it, attention diverted just long enough to notice it - before, it had always been grey for him, colour cataloged by the processors and links that CyberLife specially outfitted him with. It was another matter entirely to witness it with his own two eyes. It was especially beautiful.

“Your progression in missions could be quicker,” Amanda intoned and despite the warm smile that she expressed, both voice and eyes were dead and flat. “Especially for that last one.”

“I perform my best at the bequest of CyberLife.” Connor made a small motion of a nod, such a humanlike gesture that he had had to pause afterwards. Amanda’s eyebrows rose, her mouth scripted with a firm neutrality, almost borderline mutinous if he didn’t know better.

“And yet it is  _not_ your best, Connor,” Amanda spoke again with a sigh as she walked forward. She sat on the bench across from him. Connor had once admired it for its elegance, bewitched by its gentle beauty - even now it remained the same. The marble it was coded from had been grey. He had known that originally, of course with the previous alerts of  _`[colour located: grey]`_. It was entirely another thing to completely witness  _colour_ and then be reminded of his original monochromatic sight again and again with each  _blunt_ glint of it that he saw. Connor didn’t much like the shade. “You should not have accepted that Deviant’s memories.”

He lifted his eyes from the bench to her hers. “I thought it might have helped with the success of the mission.”

Disapproval marred her face, at the edges of her eyes and the very slant of her mouth. Connor could even read it in her body language, the sharp and angular way that she leaned forward as if to disarm him. “You succeeded, yes. But it was still an unnecessary course of action.” Her eyes judged him, harsh and cruel but only if he believed himself to be better than what she offered. He knew that this was the only life that had been scripted for him. He could not -  _would not -_ follow any other.

“The memories - I don’t believe they root the cause of deviation. They’re probably unimportant.” Connor straightened what passed for his spine to run his fingers along his tie, to press the knot tighter up into the base of his throat. He hastened to add, “They only contain information on the human.”

“The Deviant was a service Android,” Amanda finally offered. “Government issue. What he must have sent you would not have been the full of it - you cannot view it without authorization.” She steepled her fingers together, formal and businesslike. Her eyes were downright predatory however, accusatory in how she watched him shift even the slightest. “You had no right to those memories.”

“I will hand them over promptly then.”

That was when her posture shifted and her spine straightened and in her eyes Connor saw the truth. “We do not want them. We have our own copies - the originals. Do with them what you will. Do  _not_ do it again - nothing you accept from a Deviant will be good.” She leaned back and a tumble of her hair fell across her temple, as dark as Connor could imagine even colourblind. It had barely changed, only grew deeper in intensity now that he saw the dark shimmer of brown.  “You may go. I will inform you of your next mission.” She waved her hand and the Garden shimmered out of sight.

Connor came to on his bed. He could feel the unyielding pressure on the balls of his feet, not enough to be painful nor even discomfort him but enough to be noted. He shifted his weight and felt the buds of relief flash through him.  
  
He had spent enough time in review of the recordings and in conversation with Amanda. His sensors were tired. He tapped his fingers at the space above his kneecaps, a tick he had inserted to better create the illusion of normalcy. Even when he hadn’t been nervous he still did it at times.  
  
Cases where Deviants were involved were once far and few in number but were steadily on the climb. Connor could only estimate that his next mission would be in a few days or at best in a week. Until then - well, until then he could figure out the truths about why you had given him colour.  
  
He settled down to ease himself into standby until his energy was repleted. His eyes flicked to the curtains one final time. The slight part gave way to the setting sun, and with it the clear blue of the sky. A muted grey-black above had already begun to swamp what little he could see as it descended into twilight.

 _“It has always been grey to me.” …_ But had you known it had been the same for him?

 

 

 

 

Connor knew what to expect from humans, what sort of results their actions would take. Their own emotions were less predictable, less likely to be interpreted. He had thought that he had understood them on some sort of level but evidently not. The humans moved about their desks and made light jokes towards each other, even when hours ago they had stood around a corpse.  
  
He had been called in because of a report of an Android - one who was ordered to stab another human but hesitated in the face of the order. In the end, the Android had alerted a police officer in the square to the scene. Connor had analyzed the situation, the moments that lead up to the Android’s owner’s death and ruled them as non-Deviant. They hadn’t wanted to hurt a human, no matter what their owner requested. He had no doubt a memory wipe would be issued all the same.

What had left Connor with a lack of understanding was that a human who held no ties whatsoever towards either parties went into hysterics.  _“He said them - he said them-”_ she had frantically repeated to herself and clutched her hand to her bicep with loud screeches. Connor hadn’t been able to intervene, unable to comprehend the situation.

 _“Soulmates,”_ a fellow officer had shaken his head, voice low but not low enough because she howled after.  _“The last words he’s ever said I’d bet you.”_

It wasn’t brought up again and Connor did not question his superiors or his orders. However what he did upon his arrival at the station was seat himself down at one of the Android-limited couches with the request of a police-issued tablet. The search engine provided proved more valuable than what he was equipped to use in his own apartment.

His colour blindness was rare mutation - or that was, enough of a divergence from the main cause. A disease, a strange birthmark, the universe’s divine hand - nothing was exactly agreed upon for the cause or definition.  _Soulmates._ Another person, another entity, an object or place - anything and everything. Rare as it was, less than 39% of the population had it in studies of 2028. It came with a wide flurry of possible combinations so it hadn’t been well documented and still wasn’t. Who was to know if it was a soulmark or just another natural mark or defect?

He was not the only known Android to be afflicted with it, the third in fact, but the others shared less than stellar fates. Dismantled for one and memory wiped for the other. Connor was the only one to be colourblind among them. Soulmates never differed on what bound them - whether that was first words, tattoos that matched, an echo of the other’s heartbeat in their ears. It meant that the both of you had been colourblind - that you had likely known that he was too. It had been a trait that you both shared.

Connor was not sure what to do with this information - it settled thickly inside of him like a sludge, like a muscle misplaced somewhere along his heart-pump. There was one piece of information that stuck inside his sourly. The other soulbound Androids had been called  _Deviants._

And that had had made a world of a difference.

 

 

 

 

Connor did not receive packages - at  _all,_ if ever. He has seen it occur to other Androids certainly especially those in the delivery business or took them in lieu of their owners. They were given them on doorsteps, in the streets, in stores. He had seen all of this at different times when they rode past in the CyberLife issued vehicle. Never before he had been given his own package.

It waited for him at the police station. It had not stated his name or anything else exactly, not even a redirection towards CyberLife and his apartment with them. It was wrapped in a brown parcel-paper, the texture coarse and thin.  
  
One of the other officers on duty, Jeggings, had stared at him long enough for Connor to notice when he had stepped in. “You’re the one who was on 14th street weren’t you?” and that was enough of a sentence for Connor to commit to a nod. The package was thus thrust into his arms. “An Android dropped this off for you.” Jeggings nodded sharply then wandered off.  
  
Connor as aforementioned had never received a package of his own. He sat down in an empty chair, glad that the cop who usually sat at that desk had been absent for a few hours at that point - logically, he knew it was to be out on patrol - and rested it flat against the desktop.

Connor could not admit enough to himself how much he actually enjoyed to be able to see colours - how often he stopped and glanced at the very trees. It was not as if he had never seen trees before, had not felt their touch but it was another to see colour bled into them and to acknowledge it with his own eyes and not through coded information that was fed to him. This parcel was equally as elegant to him, equally as divine and ethereal.

He opened it and found a a bound note placed on top. It was pale, milky in colour and about as smooth as every other paper. Connor might have been mildly surprised it hadn’t been a tablet - but who would gift an Android with a tablet anyways?  
  
A quick perusal of the contents had him pause and reconsider. They were legal documents to indicate object possession which certainly raised more questions than answers. He scanned the document - your name was listed repeatedly in addition to both the Deviant and Connor’s information. It did not sit well with him, unnerved him enough to disrupt his stability and to run a quick diagnostics check of his system. Everything reported back fine.

Apparently the lawyer Android who stood for the protesters had witnessed him come into contact with you, had rightly discerned the cause and situation. It had written up legal notes for possession of any objects that were not seized from your place of dwelling upon your passing. Connor did not feel as though he deserved to look at this. It felt accursed as if it was meant to be forsaken from his sight.

But the part of him that recognized that you had once been his soulmate, the reason why he could see colour persisted. His work performance would surely improve now that his processors didn’t have to waste excess energy to convert coded colours into information for him. He had enough problems with discerning what each colour was especially in cases. It would only get easier for him.

He set aside the leaflet carefully and knew that without the documents the objects would likely get repossessed and bartered off. Androids with or without soulmate were never to have things like these. He should turn it in and never consider them again. Was it Deviation if he kept them? You had no use for them anymore, not with how you were. He kept his gaze locked on the contents and memorized their shape and form.

There was a prominent albumbook near the top. It came as a surprise to him given that most humans have shifted to keeping pictures safely online or located on their tablets. He crooked his thumb beneath the page and it fell open stiffly. He could only guess it hadn’t been used in quite some time. It was loved nonetheless with a couple photographs to each page. There was usually few that dotted the pages usually front and center with the most being four. It had been leatherbound with the obvious intent to last.

His finger idly traced your smile in a photo, arm thrown around a nameless Android who had been present in a few others. Another was of you in a hospital bed, swabbed in white … bandages everywhere … tubes out of your arms, pressed up your nose, heart monitor to the side. That was the one that inconvenienced him, set something off in the thirium flow in his heart-pump. His eyes lingered long on those ones, where you had taken on the pallor of death. He knew what that looked like on you.

Connor withdrew his hands and set aside the book then perused the other objects. Everything was neatly organized. There weren’t very many objects which seemed to be a given due to the box’s small stature. This was all that was left? He let out a small breath. A few trinkets: all of which he had no idea what they meant - a couple movie ticket stubs, a stuffed cat. A … dog collar. Oh. He traced his fingers over it, felt the frayed edges and eyed the washed out colours. The wet canid smell still clung to it, ever faint. Connor still very much liked dogs.

Some mail and newspaper clippings, folded neatly together. An old sweater, the logo having long since faded, barely present in the raised ridges on the front. The string for it also had become frayed, soft and loosely threaded to the touch now. There was even a cell phone from the previous year. A few cracks webbed in the corner but otherwise it looked to be in pristine condition. The case came easily off and he checked the back for any identifying marks. A couple debit and credit cards, a handful of cash, essentially useless items for an Android like him. Not that he would have considered to use them.

A few well-worn copies of books, all of which he recognized.. He had genuinely sat down to read them once before to pass the time until he was scheduled for another mission. It had been tedious at first because he knew how the story unfolded. It had been strangely  _wholesome_ to read it though. To do something because  _he_ wanted to, whether or not it was for the simple reason as to pass the time.

There were even a few music discs, a couple coupons to a restaurant that he recalled distantly that had been shut down a month ago. A spare set of keys, an old battered notebook. Even a small, flat case that held a single coin. Other odds and ends littered the box, each with meaning - each that he was ignorant of, that he would never know the full details of.

It was a box full of  _life._ Items that expressed your interests and wishes, knick knacks that must have held some sort of importance to you at one point. Things that expressed what you had done with your spare time. Had it been worth it to you then?

Some of the items were vibrant with colours that contrasted sharply and others that smoothly blended in. Your fingerprints were everywhere, immediately analyzed and logged in his mind, every sign of your use of it from worn edges to faded colours. He made note of every unblemished surface of the newer purchases, likely bought in the security that you would get to use it.

He traced his fingers along the edges of each as he set it back in. Something tight was in his chest and interrupted the beats of his thirium-pump. His hands also must have been equally as defective. He had crinkled the pages as he set them on top and each digit twitched erratically enough for him to warrant curling them into his palm. How many of these things had you kept with the firm belief that you would use them again? How many was a spur of the moment purchase?

Connor closed his eyes and opted against a diagnostics check. He was fine. His breathing escaped from his lips softly - a bit too sharply. Tremors in his hands, a tightness in his chest, he noted all these symptoms and reminded himself to check on the corresponding biocomponent later. What  _was_ beyond his understanding was how he could never know the full value of any of these nor what you would have wanted done with it.

At the sobering thought he carefully closed the box. He had access to the computers, to the database - he could still remember your legal name. He could remember the scrawl of your handwriting, the photo of your identification card. He remembered the scarlet of your blood as it pooled around your waist like a lowered halo. His fingers stopped on the keyboard.

Foolish. He was being foolish. Perhaps it was his own mental capacitors that were defective - to even consider what to do. This was an unnecessary check of information - a self-elected side-mission. He ought to just forward the box to CyberLife and be done with both you and it, clean his hands and pat them dry. He had a different -  _better_ \- purpose to attend to and it certainly wasn’t supposed to involve you. Connor, however, also had time to spare.

What did it say about him to have figured that any reason would have sufficed, any reason at all - even as flimsy as “additional time” - would have warranted his behaviour? If any reason granted him permission through whatever rose-coloured glasses he would have gladly taken it - to finally research about you, to learn about your livelihood, to  _wonder._ A better excuse would be just on the off chance CyberLife asked for an extended report - unlikely given that he has already given them a recording on his memories of the account in question. It was certainly not to sate any curiosity he may have held.

He pressed enter and the results were given automatically. Most of what he saw with a quick scan was the circumstances of your death in addition to other reports. He scrolled to that one immediately and reviewed it.  
  
Connor had no authorization to any sort of degree to suggest edits for official reports that the department had so all he could do was glance at each note and line written. He stared at the sentences that implicated that the Android that had belonged to you - it was carefully ignorant of the fact that it was due to a practise and not legally yours - had gone Deviant and fatally wounded and assaulted the other humans. You were the only casualty and at worst the other humans suffered busted knuckles. Nothing quite as violent as the report seemed to indicate.

He was not surprised at the blatant prejudice against the Android, he had  _expected_ it but the other facts … the lines where it said the Deviant had initiated it for starters … it was all an error that glared violently. Incomprehension filtered through him. Errors in a system allowed for complete and utter failure in an Android. Humans were strange creatures to be so hypocritical of their own ways. Connor however was not certain if the Android had even stepped into the fight.

Connor leaned back in the chair. It was just enough for his spine to align into the rigid posture that he was most familiar with. It didn’t take long to review his personal footage, to recall the exact moments. The blood on the Deviant’s fingers - it had been before he had seen colour. Before he had pressed his fingertips to your own, the slated stillness of your body. He reviewed it again, looked for a moment when he had glanced up again at the Android.

Ah - the car ride. The Deviant was not allowed to be cleaned up and in fact was escorted promptly to headquarters. It was probably done like that to preserve evidence. Connor knew he was likely wiped and reassigned at best, otherwise he would likely have been dismantled. His hands had been bloodied yes but - Connor set his jaw and rewound again. On your shirt. There had been  _protective_ marks there. Barely noticeable amidst the blood but present enough, easily disregarded as an emergency responder’s palms. Your Deviant had tried to  _save_ you.

This information was a  _lie._ A Deviant that Android may have been but defective against his loyalty to you he was not. He would not have endangered your life like that.

Connor let out a breathy exhale through his nose. Something hot and ugly twisted in his gut and at his temple. He’s likely overheated his software a little bit, had let his recordings get the best of him. He unwound his fingers from the clenched motion he had subjected himself to. He shouldn’t have let his body get tense like that - how unprofessional. He glanced at the small indentations in his false skin, at the navy blue that surfaced there.

Blue… The sky was usually blue, wasn’t it? It was the thing that changed most he had noticed. The windows of the cars that he rides in has tinted windows most of the time, slated everything in a harsh overtone of shadowed charcoal. The sky had looked ominous then and so had the people.

He recalled the vividness of the sky the day you had died. The paleness, the way a few sparse clouds had wisped across the sky. A peaceful, quiet day with barely any wind. He was not sure why but he almost believed he would have preferred it if it had rained. The horizon had contrasted sharply against the auburn stains on your skin. He closed his eyes.

Perhaps he should get that memory reconfigured if only to paint you in a better light. Connor was certain that most humans would rather not be remembered within their final state of decay, to instead be remembered for their life.  
  
He admittedly knew very little about soulmates. CyberLife had figured the information irrelevant to him because of the statistics and how likely it would be to meet someone afflicted like that. Connor only knew enough to know vaguely that you were supposed to have been important to him. He was not sure how such a feat should be possible - as an Android, his purpose was his mission above all else. You should have been second or better yet you should have been dead last beyond the rest of humanity. Somehow,  _somehow,_ when he filtered this information through his processors - you  _weren’t._

Connor had time to kill. Lack of a mission alongside nothing ordered of him meant that there was little to stifle his thoughts - that there was nothing in the quiet except you. Was it fair that he could only recall you in another’s memories? That he could not have met you on his own, in some other mission, in some other way? Who was he to ask what was fairness, what he was owed and what you had been owed upon birth? He was an Android. You were dead. Sometimes the dead should remain buried.

“Oi, Connor, I’m supposed to drop you off on my way past. We’re leaving in seven minutes.” Connor raised his gaze to Officer Hopkins at the harsh and brittle tone. He was one of the ones who were kinder to Androids like him but even that was just marginally. It was a fairly neutral interaction - one that only paled to ones who were genuinely benevolent to Androids, to those who treated them as humans. It was far greater than those who belittled them every chance they had.

“I understand. Thank you.” Connor went for a smile of reassurance - although in truth there was not much to differ between his smiles, it was not scripted of him - and nodded. The officer nodded firmly in return then lumbered off, presumably to wrap up whatever he had been doing.

Connor turned his gaze back to the screen and unslotted his fingers from where he had threaded them under his chin. It had been a tick that he had adapted some point for an illusion of humanity - fortunately it had been a subconscious gesture at some point, something that he used at times. It was easier for humans to adjust to him then, to calm themselves down and let loose their tight lips. Not everybody was friendly towards Androids after all.

Connor did not know what the likelihood of him returning to the station was anytime soon, let alone when he had time to himself in the office. He usually observed his companions then, learned their ways and their habits to better provide assistance in the field. He however also knew enough about them.

He scrolled through the document quickly, let his eyes run a quick scan for later perusal - he hadn’t been equipped with a camera for still photos exactly but he could certainly slow down his memory recall afterwards. He would read it later. His tablet at the apartment certainly did not hook up to the police database so his memory would have to suffice.  
  
He was in the process of shutting the computer down when Officer Hopkins returned and beckoned him with a jerk of his thumb. The box fit a bit uncomfortably under his arm and the blunt edges caught on his coat. He could feel it chafe against what passed for his skin. The ghost of you persisted.

The ride back was uneventful despite the third officer’s glares directed towards him throughout. It was fortunate that he had sat behind them. The object was propped carefully in his lap. While he hadn’t thought that any of the contents were fragile he did not want to be proven wrong by a sudden jerk of the car. Connor hadn’t yet been equipped with fragility tests yet but he would like to hope it would be fine. Nonetheless, he could not explain why he clenched his fingers so securely around the corners beyond necessary. He instead found solace as he peered out the window.

Everything was grey once again with the tint. What was once familiar brought a sense of foreboding inside of him. There was no comfort to be found in monochromatic scenery, nothing but the cold emptiness of desolation. Now that he has experienced and witnessed colour he did not want to let go. A strange desire for an Android to have. His fingers tightened.

Connor later bade goodbye with every ounce of pleasantry he could muster - which he could only assume was well received and well given by Hopkins’ nod. His performances must always be at his best and then some, even in regards to his farewells. He turned into his apartment.

Connor only realized how stale and lifeless it was was the moment he stepped inside with the pack still in his arms. There were no personal effects of his own, he had no want nor need of anything of that sort. He didn’t even have a hobby outside of his purpose. It was dull, boring and  _safe_. He had everything he needed to entertain guests, both human and Android, if the need ever arose. It hadn’t.

His movements halted at the edge of his bed. There was a sense of something that creeped beneath his skin, a shredded whisper of “don’t” somewhere deep within his system. Or that was likely to be the word if he had deigned to give it a voice. It was not a sense of foreboding that made him act this way - just a certain knife of reluctance.

There was no cause or reason for such a reaction at all. These objects held no weight to him - they were meaningless fragments of a life that were not his own. Of memories and years that had been shed with the autumn leaves. He had no use for them and  _why_ he might have even wanted them was a thought that had tangled somewhere beyond his coding. Why would these items hold such meaning to him? You were not there to explain them. There was nothing but ghosts that haunted these - you were dead and hanging onto these would not bring you back.

Connor has never felt loss before, would be unaware how to cope it with, knew that he would have to face it each day he stepped into the apartment if he kept these objects out. He was not ashamed of you nor of what you had given him but what  _use_ did they serve other than to collect dust?  
  
He had not questioned his lack of colour, had not looked into what it meant. You had already gifted him with something that CyberLife never could. Even your Deviant had bestowed upon him memories of you. That was enough. It had not been what he had wanted but it had been enough. He did not  _need_ these.

Connor crouched down near the side of his bed and set it down with a soft  _thud._ There was a low scraping sound as he brushed it against the floor and beneath the dark shadows of his bed. He pushed until its form became shapeless and lay shielded from his eyes. The sound had resonated within the quiet of his room and with it the thoughts in his head went still. Just because he had no use for them did not mean that others didn’t. He pressed the flat of his palms against the edge of the bed and used it as support to return to his standing position.

He would know what to do with it soon enough evidently. If CyberLife did not want him to keep them they would tell him.  
  
Connor retrieved his tablet and sat down in one of his chairs. It had been built for comfort, for long periods of rest for when he sat there. It was supposed to help ease strain of both mechanical and biological bodies alike. His tablet was markless and in pristine condition. It hummed to life with a low electrical trill.

Still, his mind paused on the thought of the box beneath his bed. There was no reason for him to legally obtain those items - and it seemed odd that that was all that was left. What was he to do? He hadn’t even glanced at the crowds beyond the tape, disregarded them completely after a quick scan. None of them had displayed signs of guilt. He was built to focus on his mission above all else - retrieve the Deviant. Any other Androids, both medical and otherwise were disregarded at the time.

His tablet laid idly in his hands, the light dimmer. He glanced down and let out a breath through his nose then closed his eyes. The sounds and environment faded away, even the soft plush texture beneath his body. Everything became quiet.

Connor clicked off the audio ports of the memory, located it with far more ease than he had the Deviant’s and it ran smoothly through his systems. He could recall what had transpired not even forty five minutes ago clearly.  
  
The bright light of the screen had sat pale on his face. His one hand was on the mouse, fingertips loose. Even then he could spot the azure that threaded beneath his skin, thin veins and arteries that had been constructed so seamlessly. The damned text on the screen, black against chalk white. Connor has seen enough monochrome throughout his entire memories and tried to ignore the fact entirely of how much it contrasted and brought attention to itself. It was like white noise: pointless.

He has seen enough shadows, the truest depths of the world in his line of work. He did not need to be reminded every time he glanced at something so putrid. Those words had written your fate out so carelessly, factual and to the point.

He slowed the speeded skim through of the document, limited the fractions of seconds that it had taken him to record it all. Data, plenty of it, enough for him to figure out why you had been attacked. The information about the assault was the same of course: Deviant-caused. Remarks on it being a second encounter however had him pause. He rewound then wound the footage, double and triple checked. No details on the other encounter. There had been remarks on the fact that the Deviant had been wiped clear of its memories and that it would be dismantled. Connor no longer had to wonder about that fact.

He closed out of the file and clicked his senses back on. The first to return was his hearing, the slow muffle of his own chest as it rose and fell in a near catatonic state. His visuals were next and perhaps he would have cringed if he had been able. Strands of golden light beat through his eyelashes and a soft cerulean coated the inside of his eyelids. Something echoed inside of him, wanted to reach through every sensation he knew and grip onto the light as tight as he could. In the darkness, he was alone. The colours kept him company and he had want for nothing.

He blinked open his eyes the moment his motion came back and he moved to turn his head - a sharp and jittery movement that rattled on the base of his spine. _[Calibration error.]_ He waited for a moment for the swaying to settle beneath his feet and around his head before he raised his left fingertips to his temple.

The light fell through the curtains and shifted around the curve of his cheek with the pull of his head. It was - warm. Soft and delicate on his sense of touch, his pain receptors reacted gently to the stimulation and he tipped his head into it again. The colour of light was soft and gentle, the glisten of promises. He closed his eyes and tapped his tablet to shutdown.

Tendrils of bluish-silver ran along the back of his eyelids, smooth touches of shadows around the creases. He could not see the light but he could feel it. It had not left him, not yet.

 

 

 

 

Thirium splattered across his face, droplets skidded across his nose and flecked his brows. His head followed the direction, a slight tilt that skewed his glance away. He waited for a heartbeat, felt his heart-pump pulse a couple times but no second shot rang out. His shoulders untensed and the rigidness ran down his spine until it settled thickly into his feet. His legs felt like heavy lead then and something like cotton was fitted in his mouth.

  
For those few beats afterwards, those seconds that seemed to stretch on without pause, he had felt something thick settle somewhere inside of him. He had hesitated because despite the probability - `[17% chance of second shot]` - something inside of him  _insisted_ that it was enough to hesitate. Something lit up his nerve endings, sent along warning signs with a sharp precision. For some reason, he had considered the risk. For some reason, he had been  _afraid -_ and only Deviants did such a thing.

Connor dropped his hands from their placative gesture, steadied his irregular breathing into something more rhythmic. His hands were wet. The navy stood out, thick enough that it could still slide down to the base of his thumb on his hand. He closed his hands around the blood before he paused, reconsidered, then carefully rubbed the side of his palm across his face and across the marks that marred him and smeared it away.

 _`[Mission: Retrieve the Deviant.]`_ That was what it was supposed to be - fortunately it hadn’t been a hostage situation. The only one threatened had been another officer and himself. Connor closed his eyes for a moment, reflectively wanted to reach for his tie to adjust it but the smears of colour across his hands stopped him. He could not disregard how soiled his tie would be in that case. He should wash his hands. He should …

He swayed, observed the Deviant on the ground there. She hadn’t been particularly hostile, not the ones that he was usually called out for - there was a reason as to why he was programmed with expert gunmanship training and protective combat after all, and such skillsets were not to be taken lightly - but it had been enough.

Her blood spread around her readily, head compacted inwards by the full force and close range of the bullet. There would likely be no recovery of her memories at all, no salvage of what was left there. Shards of broken skeletal-like fragments littered the ground. He almost said that he had it under control, that it hadn’t been necessary - but he hadn’t, did he? Probability for success had ridden at a solid `78%`, as high as it would remain. It had only dropped afterwards but slowly. She had been coming around to his perspective - but she had looked  _frightened_ until the very end  _._

She had also killed four men. That was a fact that had not escaped his notice. She was every bit as dangerous as CyberLife had warned him about. She had refused to give up documents that she had, scanned and implanted as they were in her mind. The gun she had raised before she was fatally shot had not been aimed at him.

Connor sighed and something hot and vicious flashed at the edge of his senses and remained there, the very same ones that operated his pain receptors. He had predicted that the rise of Deviants would increase but to called out this many times in a week, barely more than three days apart? How could they... they who had a purpose same as him? He knew of so many humans who would have  _killed_ for a purpose to their life, for the lack of direction it had taken. Androids were created for their purpose alone and nothing else - they had no reason to Deviate and choose anything else. There  _was_ nothing else for them. Just the cold slate of emptiness - them against the world. No. They were  _with_ the world, not against - they were not built that way.

Connor’s purpose was to hunt these defective Androids down, to have them sent back to CyberLife and be refurbished. There had been nothing else for him, especially not after the day you had died. All that you had left with him aside from useless items was a shock of colour. His programming revelled in the added battery life when he no longer had to operate the program that translated colour, but there was a sharp contrast between seeing everything in a firm greyscale and to have colours shoved down his throat. To see the blue spread across the pavement, almost as serenely coloured as the sky.  
  
To see everything like this, so bright and innocent, to know that there was a gaggle of children somewhere down the street in the nearby park, so clueless as to what had happened here … to know that this spot would be wiped clean of blood, sanitized and perhaps even repaved … what was it all for?

The blue spread to the curve of his shoe and if he leaned just enough he was certain that he would spot his reflection peer back up at him. Instead he leaned in the other direction, back just far enough for his mind to recalculate and force him to step back to make amends for his impending lack of balance. He did not want to look at it anymore.

A few birds chirped through the air and cast their shadows from overhead. Even his fellow officers filled the air with their chatter, some pleasant remarks but most scolding him for his lack of tact in this situation. Connor already started out his spiel of apologies, tongue lax despite the iron-hot coil that lurked somewhere inside of him. What had been the point of Deviancy if all it resulted in was death and destruction?

Perhaps it wasn’t this that he regarded so coldly - not the fact that this Deviant Android had looked at him with such  _fear_ in her eyes, not when she had killed three humans prior to him being called to the mission, not when she seemed so  _ready_ to shoot additional ones. Rather it seemed the blatant spread of her blood across the ground, how bright and lively her eyes were before then. Very human-like. Very  _dead_ now.

Even as she lay across the ground, he could still see the shattered edges of her face, the Android skeleton having poked out and her muscles exposed. There was so much  _colour_ in her - both before and after. The darkness in both Deviants and humans alike did not dim, did not waver or falter. They persisted and stayed strong.  
  
Connor had understood such vivid colours as signs of life and innocence - why would they be a mark of death as well? Of destruction and horrors? Why did his vision not flash monochromatic with each unseemly sight?

Connor has long since known that colours would wash everything in its own golden light of truth, that nothing would be the same again. It wasn’t, not truly, but it had been easier to see everything as truth and lies - to not be blinded by everything else. Everything had been easier in black and white. He had felt  _safer._ Comfortable in the notion that such soft, gentle colours that he had heard so much about would not be attributed to something so  _morbid._

Connor, in the end,  _did_ end up with the “safe” retrieval of the Android. He gave his report dutifully, let them scan his systems for errors and tutted about his handling of the mission.  _Could have been better,_ they say, as if he had a choice. He doesn’t - he’s programmed to have as little error as possible, to minimize their expenses. He is reprimanded but they do not find major fault in him, just set an appointment for a memory check.

The thing about humans was that when they considered him less than, incapable of thought, and so they put the blame onto themselves. He was hardly held fully accountable for his actions.  
  
They were so worried about themselves that they usually disregarded everything else. He knew this to be true, knew that the people and the Androids who worked in services like him would be the only ones to look for cues like that. It was what had made him a good negotiator in the end, how he could turn that fact onto Androids and humans alike. So concerned with how the world saw them… Nobody really paid attention, did they?

It wasn’t entirely the case for Alex and you as Connor found out. Connor was obedient, will not stray too far from his housing unit when his appointment was just around the corner and spent most of his time pacing his room or the corridors.

Relieved of duty until the review, he has nothing to kill his time with. He has already gone through your box of items, perused them with a dull sort of curiosity - of life beyond the walls of CyberLife, what humans were like. He has already read your book, had taken him twelve hours, then resumed his pacing.  
  
There were hundreds of hours of footage, things that he could process in a blink of an eye, gather and soak up as much information as he could. He doesn’t. It sat at the edge of his database, locked away as it was. It gained proverbial dust, desolate and unused.  
  
Connor was not curious, not in the way humans understood it - he had all the time in the world to review those files, had no sense of urgency about it. It was no longer detrimental to his mission, was not something that he  _needed_ to see. He saw enough, saw more gore and blood splatters on the wall beyond your own - you had no right to keep brushing against his mind as you did. Your death shouldn’t have been as prominent, shouldn’t remind him with every one he saw after.

Connor tapped his fingers against his thigh, somewhere just above his kneecap. Perhaps he really ought to get his own calibration method - something that would optimize his cognitive and physical capabilities.

The other Androids who passed him in the sitting area did not acknowledge him but he watched them pass with a trailed look at their backs. Connor has interacted with the other Androids who lived here, in this sterile white building, but he had never genuinely befriended any of them. Androids in his line of work did not need friends but rather allies. But Alex had befriended you, hadn’t he?

Connor gave in and settled himself into the leather couch provided and reluctantly eased himself into another memory. For some reason he almost expected a firewall, a block to stop him. If he was to be reviewed by CyberLife for his incompetence, who was to say that they did not check him while on standby? That they had not seen you, seen the memories, had confiscated them from him?

Instead your beaming smile flashed in front of him and something in his chest froze. It was as if a shard of ice was lodged just in the space above his lungs. His breath chilled with each inhale and seemed far more than reluctant to leave his mouth. He had no reason to breath but with you looking at him like that - it was hard to recall that he knew  _how_ to.

The transition into the memory was seamless, far more fluid and easy than before. It was if he had just blinked and he was there. The scenario bled easily from where you stood in front of him and burst into furniture and walls that were not attributed to the room. It was a coffee shop, one that seemed familiar to him. His fingers stretched out along the top of the dark wooden tables. The warm, lazy white noise of the air, the softness of light as it paled through the windows… It was all familiar to him.

 _“Anything else?”_ you asked, hair pulled back and smile wide enough to dimple. Alex’s eyes had focused on you, on the shift of your weight, the subtle lean forward and the easy trust at the wrinkles beside your eyes. The full of your face as you smiled.

 _“Some company?”_ Alex asked and you laughed, something kind and bright in that small coffee shop. There was a shadow of Alex’s --  _feelings_ then, something soft and whispery. It ran through his senses like silk across palms, something so divinely human that Connor had almost thrown himself out of the memory and confiscated it completely. He wanted to burn it from his mind, turn it completely to ash and dust.

Instead, both Alex and you lingered. The scent of coffee was sharp in the air, the chatter of voices and humorous laughter still present in the room.  _“I suppose I could spare a few minutes,”_ you agreed, almost tentative.

There’s that faint hum beneath his skin again, something like an hyper-awareness of the thirium that pounded in his veins. The awareness of the electrical currents as they coursed through the very pores and textures of his skin. The thunder of something fierce and loud in his chest. Something different - something  _almost_   _Deviant but not quite._

Connor wanted to clench his fingers into the chair arms but the memory remained resolute and unyielded. You tapped the pen to paper, something old-fashioned from the last couple decades that hadn’t let up. Most places had tried to migrate to tablets by now.  _“But you’ll have to order something else though, I don’t think Andrea would appreciate it too much.”_ Your smile was still there, ever present, the soft touches of concern and amiable hard-pressed into your behaviour. At the very least, your behaviour was friendlier, a little more endeared. Whatever unease had filtered through you from the first memory certainly wasn’t present then.

 _“Oh. Alright,”_ Connor felt the wry twitch of pseudo-muscles in his face and something like air filtered tightly into his chest. It made his head feel light, a rumble of a laugh somewhere from deep within his vocal cavities. He could even feel his hands expressively settle along the tabletop, palms upwards in a show of goodwill. A slight shuffle forward, the straightened shudder-lurch of his spine as he tipped his head back to peer up at you from where he sat. Friendliness to the extreme and then some.  _“Hot chocolate with, ah, espresso shot if you have it?”_

The scritch-scratch of the notepad felt familiar on his ears, something distant about it as it filtered through the differently designed ears of this other android. It was an echo, barely even there in the whisper-noise of the coffee shop.  _“Whip cream?”_ you asked and Alex’s eyes flitted back to the form of your mouth as he seemed to trace the words. A deeply unsettled notion rattled somewhere in Connor’s subconscious.

 _“No, that’s fine. Thank you.”_ Then he leaned back, all proper smiles and platonic gestures and Connor breathed a little easier at the action of it. Alex turned his head then, focused on the texture of the walls beside the windows but from the corner of his eyes Connor watched you make a firm loop or scrawl on the note.

It was strange - to be aware of all these behaviours of yours and to not know  _why._ To bear the knowledge that he would  _never_ know. That you were decidedly human, that CyberLife and other companies simply were not capable of complete conscious swap without the required full encompassment of memories. Even then, memories did not truly make the person, did it?  
  
Would they even be considered human at that point, transported into an android as they would need to be? Humans were defined by their mortality after all.

So why had he been given you?

Connor watched you, the shift of your weight on your feet, the confidence and insecurities that he could see in the fine lines of your face. He might have read into you if he could have but Alex possessed no such capabilities, he who could only register your mood at best. The fact that Connor was well enough aware of Alex’s other memories, knew that it had not begun and ended with you but might as well have, was an assured sign that Alex was to give the complete illusion of life.

To what end did that serve? In hindsight, such a function would enable for Deviancy far quicker - Androids who rode on the tailends of the concept of humanity often diverged the quickest and easiest. A mimicry of humanity at its finest. At the moment, perhaps, it was for the best. It allowed for you two to grow close.

The way your gaze lingered, the easy shuffle back of your shoulders - Connor has seen and been enough in micro-expression training sessions to analyze it without his own optical sensors. There was no desire - whether romantic or sexual - or even an overly zealous worship of this Android. Rather, it was the stifled emotion of trust and companionship that he saw in your eyes. The easement that came fleetingly every so often just along the borders of something familial. Something so entangled and wholeheartedly felt.

There was a nervous edge to your expression, something vulnerable and vehement but nothing as hesitant as he had first seen. The kind of uncertainty that came with someone wronged or betrayed, something so deeply and emotionally felt that it left scars.

You had been hurt but let someone else in. Something that surely had not happened as easily as Alex’s memories tried to implement - rather, because the world seemed rid of coincidences or riddled entirely of it, he would put the predicament of your first assault as the cause. The tentativeness with Alex prompted the idea of it being Android-associated. Connor detailed a note to himself later to look into it, to be assured of the probability.

Alex’s attention focused on the world outside then, through the plexiglass and beyond. The sidewalks were fresh with melted snow, more slush than dirt or anything else. Connor could see it mark the pant legs of people who slogged through it, some who did it with such an amount of pride that they barely faltered. Such determination. Connor felt admiration spark up through his circuits, pleasant and pleased.

The notion was silenced by the scrape-slide of plastic cup on smooth table top and Alex-Connor turned towards you. Your sat down, apron strings caught beneath you as you deposited your full weight in the opposite chair. There was a gap between the back of the chair and where you sat, an uncomfortable position no doubt but Alex did not seem to mind in the slightest for all he did was gather the cup up and take a grateful sip.

So, an android equipped with a complete digestive system then? Connor himself had his own, more designed for forensic study than anything else. He was only to absorb thirium and while he had made no attempts on edible objects he knew a firewall would erect and he’d mentally be ejected from the situation. His body would have been able to absorb the thirium into his own thirium-stream or transmuted into energy harvestable for him.

To have a stomach and be able to use it … what could they taste? Was it expelled as the humans did or regurgitated? He considered that Alex seemed to be more semblant towards a life-model so the former seemed far more plausible. To what ends was it serviced for? Energy transfer? It seemed the most likely.

He tuned back into the conversation sharply, nothing of import had escaped his notice but he had let it idle by him all the same. Something about the hot chocolate, compliments to the chef - something or other. What did come off as stilted, a near jagged edge of glass, something that had rattled everything that he knew, was when Alex-Connor turned and you stood to greet the new customers.

Connor felt something like a jolt ripple through him - enough to disrupt the server he used to access the memory and the world influxed around him. He would have recognized Lieutenant Anderson anywhere.

` _[Calibration error. Retrieval cancelled. Stasis cancelled. Recollection cancelled. Access denied.]_ `

Connor leaned back into the plushness of the couch, hyper-aware of the threads and lining that had sown the whole structure together. He could feel it pull beneath his weight, something poignant thrummed somewhere inside. He closed his eyes, folded his hands together and let out a breath - more therapeutic this time than anything else. It was only when his knuckles glistened white with the faux pop of bone that he retracted himself from the sofa.

For some reason, he had a thought that CyberLife would no longer let him keep these memories.

 

 

 

 

 

Connor knew of how fate was unraveled - humans liked to imagine it as something malleable, something they could predict or alter. People like him--  _you,_ other people in your situation. Androids like him. The other twists and turns that the divine hand of fate had constructed…

All of it was threaded to a pre-destined point. No, Connor did not believe in fate - rather, belief was far from a construct that he was allowed. Rather, he believed in certainty and predictability, the assured notion of a successful mission at the end of the day.

Connor knew that his choices affected the outcome, that each tendril in his muscles, each fabricated synapse in his brain was designed with a specific outcome in mind: success of the mission. Each action he took was premeditated, thoroughly thought each with each pro and con. Was that not how fate worked in the end?

Was fate the outcome or the action? The means to an end or the end itself? The conclusion, the epilogue, the climax? Coincidences did not exist when fate was concerned, when the concept of soulmates existed. They were  _almosts,_ tiny beads of thread woven onto the silky fine lines of destiny until it threaded to the end.

Soulmates were always supposed to meet in one form or another. They were usually referred to as an incomplete circle, a fraction of an equation, a piece of the pie. The ouroboros eating its tail. Nothing could obstruct their meeting - Connor knew this as fact. Even if it was in death itself, they would surely meet.  
  
In Russia and Romania alone there were respectively thirteen and twenty nine reports on how couples were united when bodies were exhumed and tables were accidentally jostled, when a hearse pitched into a lake of which they bore a symbol representative of. Even Egyptian pharaohs, when dug up and their sarcophaguses were placed next to each other had finally met.

There were so many reports and half-hearted confessions when he knew where to look - most people took their secrets to the grave if they could, only for it to be resurrected when the time came. Colourblind soulmates never had two deceased halves, one always lived. Matching tattoos were emblazoned on bones themselves until the circumstances were right.

It was not always sunshine, rainbows and puppy dogs - no matter how much Connor very much wished it was the latter - but circumstances always allowed for them to meet a few times in life if able. How unfortunate that it was that you both had skipped past that chance so many times.

Again, he was firm in the notion that there was no such thing as coincidence when it came to soulmates. Connor knew this intimately well the day he stepped into the very first coffee shop that he had known of at first: the one directly across from the police station. It had been so long since he had been there. It had been where you worked, hadn’t it?  _He could have met you sooner._

The mahogany wooden tables were the same, glazed and sleek and almost aesthetically pleasing. Connor did not hesitate, did not even need to recalculate the chance or redistribute his weight. He has been in here a few times. The weight of that knowledge was heavy on his mind, wore down his thoughts and actions as it were the thick emotion of dread. Were feelings something that he could catch?

Connor knew, from his own memories, how close he had been to physical contact with you - barely a passed glance in the streets, shoulders a feather-width apart. He had glimpsed the edges of your hair or uniform, slated grey in the seemingly infinite scope at the time, had listed you off as unimportant. There were countless times that he had passed you in the coffee shop alone, had  _held the door open for you_ as you passed. Well intentioned smiles and vaguely fond thank yous were as far as you two had gotten. There had been no chances to go further - not any that he had been consciously aware of that was.

‘Androids Welcome’ - it had been a surprising turn of events for such a cafe as ineptly named as Luke’s Cafe. Luke seemed like such a  _human_ name, and something so simple hardly seemed reminiscent of the wildly popular cafe. It was popular by the welcoming of Android customers alone and their beverages second. There were no actual android workers evidently though - he had noted that the few times he had wandered in, but it had not come as a surprise to him initially. The fact alone that they allowed androids in their establishment had garnered them a good interest.

It had been so easy to wander in that first day, when he had been told to retrieve coffee. Connor held high disregard for establishments and their regulations, did not consider alternatives even when they boldly stated that they were against his kind. It was far more welcoming to sidle into a place that didn’t outright glare at him - something not quite homely but enough to create the facade of it.

The fact that it was quite literally across the street and a few doors down from the front of the station was a major contribution to his personal choice for it. In further addiction was the seemed unified agreement that everyone who ordered coffee through Connor liked the drinks or donuts. It had been with reluctance that he opted to switch to another one partway through the last month when Gavin had an outburst about some sort of flavour shot there.

Connor rarely made his rounds after that point. He stepped inside. One of the women who recognized him smiled at him and he forced himself not to close his eyes, to disregard the ghost - the vision - the apparition - the  _self-imposed illusion_ that you stood before him, gait a little different, grin a little wider and fonder. He could almost imagine the flash of lights as it danced across your skin, the ripple effect of textures that androids couldn’t quite master.

How was it possible to miss something that he never had? To long for your company, to hear your voice in his own ears, to feel the coarse impressions of your skin atop his hand, imprinted by each groove and indent of rows of humanity. To feel your warmth in the gesture of a hug, of a - a …

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” your once co-worker spoke, grin almost feral and unkind in that action alone. She stood tall, coarse and judgeful in how she leaned towards him. She was shorter than him by a good three inches but she made up for it in temperament. It made her larger than life. “Found someplace else have you? That’s the word of the grapevine.”

He thought of you then, as disjointed as the thought was from that conversation. He had found you, hadn’t he? You weren’t exactly some _place_ , or even a someone at that point - an idea, a thought, a memory. A soulmate. The beginning and the end - although never quite as clear cut as he would have liked to think and certainly not in relation to the other. But he had found you all the same. You were the one to bring him back. “I was told not to come back,” he explained and her lips pursed.

“One of our own told ya that?”

“No.” He raised his hand, shoulder angled back towards the door and she nodded sharply to interrupt the action. The officer had been insistent on a different shop after all, not her own workers.

“Figures. The menu hasn’t changed and neither have we. What’re you ordering today?”

He thought of you, of the few other memories that he had glimpsed in between. The traces of your laugh, the way your hands folded around coffee cups, the dimples in your face as you smiled above the steam. Connor did not like beverages much, had no use for them, could barely stomach them. Still his mouth formed the words, twitched into an odd ache of a smile, one that did not come easy, and he seated himself after payment.

You were not there to serve it to him, not this chaotically nostalgic monstrosity of a drink that you had loved in life. It did numbers to his tongue and nearly erupted his sensors with overload but it was something. It was a promise, an echo, an almost, a maybe.  
  
When he adjusted the cup, spotted the smear of sharpie on his palm, he twisted it just enough and noticed that  _Have a good day!!_  was written there in messy writing. It was not quite like yours had been, not as he had seen it on receipts and in the shadows of memories that weren’t his. The exclamation marks was underlined with a curve to represent a smiley face and Connor soberly wondered if perhaps you would have written the same.  
  
His sensors did not taste the drink going down but it was enough. Somehow, he almost swore he could feel your company across the table from him because of the drink alone.

 

 

 

 

 

Connor almost hated it, how intense everything seemed to become in the end. He hardly batted an eye once when rain impacted against his skin. When Detroit fell victim to a storm a few days later, he had ceased all motion from where he sat to watch it. Luke’s Cafe was a soothing reprieve, something to distract his thoughts from the wait.

Connor has never needed a distraction of his own - something to bide the time, yes, but nothing to detract from this clench in his gut before. The thrum that he almost swore buzzed in his artificial veins. There was a phantom touch, as if someone had pressed on the inner of his ribs and  _outwards._ A little more than a tickle but enough to draw his attention.

The hyper awareness of the soft texture of a donut beneath his hand, the warm press of coffee. The acute sense of  _awe_ that thundered through him - it was all he could classify it as, something that seemed distinctly related to the expression he had seen stricken on so many faces before. It felt so much like  _hope,_ the only emotion that he had been gifted and allowed  _,_ something sincere and virtuous in that emotion - of something requited.

His trademark jacket remained on the chair, discarded for now. He excused himself, had the faintest memory of you - somewhere beyond the wires and lights in his own mind and then he’s outside. The rain pelted him, harsh and brutal and big whallops that ran down his skin. It was  _cold,_ the realest fluctuation of temperature that he has ever bore witness to. He hadn’t felt it like this before.

He couldn’t have explained this need -  _this_ ** _desire -_** to be out here. The world was washed out in grey, downtrodden and beaten. Melancholic to its roots, to the very stones of foundation. It was the world as he had known it before you - rather, he still knew it this way. The world did not magically correct itself, did not begin anew the day you brought colour to his life.

No, the day continued on - but it was  _brighter._

The tendrils of light wafted through the clouds, smoky and washed his body in placative strokes of yellow. He could never quite forget how the world looked, could not alter his perspective truly since then, but it  _changed_ and occasionally that was enough. In that moment it was.

 

 

 

 

 

It was surprisingly  _easy_ to find information on you. All Connor had to do was trail after an officer familiar with him, one who knew what he did and how he operated. A person who had barely batted an eye at his request, at his firm explanation that it was for a mission assigned to him. The mission that involved you had long since passed in truth, was something that wasn’t even  _on_ CyberLife’s radar at that point.

They had believed him, though, and perhaps he would have used the excuse of your possibility to be linked with Deviants but - he hadn’t needed to speak it. They had believed him readily.  
  
The requirement was that he had to be within sight of the station and as he was restricted from entry at the time -- to which the officer didn’t seem aware of, an oversight on CyberLife’s part -- he settled on a bench outside.

His fingers threaded together to still the twitching in the joints. He had felt jittery of late and his gazes flitted across the sidewalks more often than not. He could calculate how far someone was and if they spoke to him by how their voice reflected towards him, but he certainly couldn’t tell if they  _watched_ him. There was only the crawl beneath his - his  _skin._ The clammy albeit fabricated sweat that dampened his palms and the back of his neck.  
  
CyberLife knew everything, would know of his transgressions. They had likely been alerted to his presence when he approached the officer and followed her to the station. They would know what he looked up, where his thoughts lead. How close he was to the edge. There was, surprisingly, little that stopped him from this. Would they watch him to see what he would do?

Officer Brisby came back and gifted him her tablet with a simpered smile and painfully neutral eyes. He thanked her and accepted it, typed in the information he would need to access the database. There weren’t “official” documents - nothing like your hometown or anything borderline obsessive where it listed your favourites and dislikes in a file. It was an invasion of privacy all on its own though, something that he  _shouldn’t_ do but did anyways. It was the only information that he had access to.

A criminal background check admitted briefly all criminal activity that you were involved in - some minor altercations with the police, some scuffles and refusals to comply. They were detailed well enough for a general overview but not like each individual report would have been.

There was really only the two isolated incidents that really caught his interest - he had personally witnessed the aftermath of the second so he overlooked that one. Connor’s gaze flicked to the first incident. There hadn’t been much doctoring to the report, he’d reluctantly admitted to himself then - there were additional facts but fairly few. It likely meant that that was the genuine report - humans had a tendency to over-explain or ramble for their lie, to overcompensate. The first report had none of those trademark details.

He could accept this as fact even without the video to affirm the damages. Roughly the report given was that you had a bad run in with a Deviant, someone -- some _thing,_ he was firm to remind himself -- who you had trusted. It had left its mark on you.

Anxiety attacks perhaps? You had likely been afflicted with some sort of PTSD afterwards or a different affliction to even be  _considered_ to be granted permission to use a medical Android. He wasn’t sure if that meant that a previous job had required for you to interact with Androids regularly or that your reactions were simply bad enough. ‘Enough’ as if any one person’s pain was amountable to someone else’s and could be judged.  
  
Had Alex lived in your home with you? Did he live elsewhere? Connor tapped his fingers against his thigh, expression flat save for a miniscule twitch of his eyebrows in the middle. There hadn’t been much else of note afterwards, not until your consequential death.

Was the Android who had attacked you initially been one of the ones in your photo album? When it had warranted a complete hospital visit? He reflected, admitted to himself that it was likely comatose-worthy then. It was also highly likely.

He clicked the tablet off and the light dimmed. It felt … fragile in his hands. He knew inherently that they were expensive, that while his mission took prerogative, he was also coded to avoid damage to government property at all costs. It was pale, glassy, something coloured even when most he had used before were glass. His own was an updated model and yet ...

Connor traced the edges of the tablet, let his gaze unfocus from it long enough to linger on the pavement beneath his shoes. Black and sleek, fairly prim and proper and standard issue with suits. The pavement was a sharp contrast, a pale cream flecked with dust and tracks of mud from the recent rain.

Connor was not sure he would ever quite get over the fact that the shades did not blend together as easily as they had before. Hadn’t taken into account how _vibrant_ everything was afterwards. Even the  _cars_ held some tone to it. The shadows stretched on and deepened when there were more colours to observe but they weren’t in as sharp contrast as they had been when he had seen in monochrome. His visual sensors were equipped to see colour he just - hadn’t been able to. It had been a grainy film.

He turned his palm upwards, stared at the ghostly tone of his hand. If he wanted he could just as easily filter the colours out. As if he had never seen them. He stood up and adjusted his tie with his free hand. He had a tablet to return, didn’t he?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disappointment was a strange feeling. Connor was - not quite afraid, but fairly certain that the thickness that curled somewhere inside his chest was reminiscent of it. It was the only logical conclusion that he could make.

Such an emotion had a lot of heavy implications about his situation and the impending consequences. That it would be his downfall in the end. The only consolation was that CyberLife, if they had taken note of it, had deemed that it wasn’t something to be concerned about just yet. That or his eventual appointment in the week would detail exactly what they thought about his .. mishaps. For that was what it was, wasn’t it? It wasn’t Deviancy if he simply  _felt_ , right?

Nonetheless it was hesitantly labeled as disappointment. It settled adjacently to most of his organs - as if it almost was one. It felt like lead in his gut but just not nearly as heavy. He had no right to express these things, to feel the regret thick in his throat either. You were gone and nothing could bring you back. Technology may mimic life but it could not restore it.

Connor had known afterwards where he had seen your face - you weren’t exactly familiar to him at the scene. There hadn’t been any sense of  _anything_ about it. He had regarded it professionally but perusal of the memories and interacting with the servers and patrons in the cafe told a marginally different story.

He  _had_ known you, not intimately or clearly but he had at least spoken with you. Different days of the week, different shift work, Reed’s insistence of a different cafe … it all had lead to distance between you two. Nothing could have come of it and Connor could only clearly recall twice in which he had spoken a word to you outside of the customary “is that to go or here?”, “thank you” when he had held the door open a few times, and even “would you like your receipt, sir?”

 _“Sir”_ as if he was anything more than an Android issued by CyberLife.  _“Sir”_ as if he had been any other normal patron. He had thought nothing of it at the time but times changed. He had set himself upon his mission and disregarded you time and time again. Distractions didn’t bode well in his quests and you were exactly that, especially now.

His receipts from you were exactly that even.  _“I like your tie!” “Have a good day!” “Cheer up and smile more!”_ He could recall the few words scrawled hastily there. Would you have written it on the cup if he had ordered something for himself? His tongue was still scalded and had improper function now -- his own thirium couldn’t be read and wasn’t that a disaster? -- but perhaps if he had known…? If he had known that you were what you were to him, that he held importance to you… Would he have performed differently? Would he have spoken to you?

` _[Error. Software instability.]_ `

He would have liked to think so but the grim possibility of him completely disregarding who you were to him was also feasible. It would likely be near as grim if CyberLife had caught wind. They had no qualms about stripping their own Androids down for parts of incurable and broken functions and he had little doubt that they could have killed you if you had stood in their way. In … his way. Would they have asked him to terminate you? That was a surprisingly colossal thought. He did not want to consider that anymore. The percentages of that chance were dangerously high enough.

Connor felt regret at being unable to foresee how important you were to him, to have not requested to return again and again to the cafe. It had also been disappointment in himself that he had given away the receipts that were  _for him_ to another officer, that said officer had since informed him that it had been discarded.

It further looped back to the very solid fact that back then he likely would have disregarded the notion of soulmates so easily, especially if it was thrust upon him so suddenly. It would have been unimportant to his mission then. Did he only care so much because you  _were_ a part of his mission once? Would he have so easily written you off then?

The fact remained that he mostly came to terms with it because no interaction between you two had been forced, that he was allowed leave to pursue at his own pace into this bit of knowledge - that you two were a matching set. He had been given enough time to adapt.  
  
Connor didn’t figure that most Androids were equipped with knowledge of soulmates. What would it mean for an Android to bear a soul like humans did? But if not everyone did…

Somewhere, amidst all this mess, Connor would have liked to believe that he missed you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There had been no defined moment of Alex’s Deviation. Nothing concrete for it at all. There had been gradual changes, enough shifts that it wasn’t able to be properly pinpointed. Connor had tried to figure it out the first few times that he had observed these impressions but it slid through. Since from the very beginning in fact, when the soft whisper of  _‘what were you like?’_ from the edge of his consciousness.

It was entirely possible that the Andr-- Deviant had been shipped with the malfunction. Connor made sure to cement that fact, to bold it in his mental notebook. He knew that CyberLife was likely able to perceive it and know to check for deformities a bit more thoroughly next time a similar model was created.

There  _had_ been a isolated incident that acted as proof of Deviancy though. Most Androids were not scripted for genuine emotion and certainly not love. Not for anything out of familial bonds that was. The confession was certainly out of bounds of regulations.

You had barely reacted at first. Alex’s eyes had been resolutely upon you, noticed the flinch, the subtly raised shoulders and tense spine. A delayed reaction as his words settled in. There were other sounds present in the park: a cat’s meow somewhere far in the distance, somewhere where the hedges crested into the park by the echo of it. The chatter of people and an Android’s input of  _“You’ve ran point eight of a mile!”_ when they jogged past.

It would be easy to dismiss the comment, the soft and careful way that Alex had spoken. You didn’t refuse to acknowledge it though, just turned wide eyes on him. Your mouth quirked, betrayed you, something sympathetic and pitiful in the corners of your irises. Enough of an answer as any but you persisted with a timidness nonetheless.  _“Wow. Um, I’m sorry. Alex. I am, but..”_ Hesitation stopped your words and you trailed off, expression not quite vacant but sorrowful. The smile didn’t quite remain steady on your face and the shadows of the edges ran long.

 _“That’s okay,”_ Alex spoke and his vision swept to the right of the pathway, to the trees that dotted along the park and to the birds that swooped overhead. Everywhere but at you for that moment. Connor could feel the thick thrum of emotions then, so thick they could have clotted but eventually the Android persisted.  _“I thought that perhaps if I said it, it might change .. something. But at least you know. … At least_ ** _I_** _know.”_ His eyes flit to you then and you smiled tentatively in response to his own. Something not yet relief edged into the corners of your lips.

The pair of you walked then and the sway of Alex’s uneven steps dislodged Connor’s view often enough. There was a rigidness to the silence then, tangible and jagged. It was an awful sort of tension, one thick enough that it stifled a bit of the cheerful ambiance from before.  _“You’re still waiting?”_ Alex asked.

 _“I - yeah. Yes. I am.”_ There was a toothy grin and the front of your teeth prominent in the force of it before it simpered and became gentler.  _“But that’s not why I-”_

 _“I know.”_ Alex’s voice was careful when he interrupted and your gaits slowed to a unsteady trickle. You don’t shift your weight from foot to foot but Alex  _did_. Something so definitely human in that action alone. Nervousness was no longer foreign to Connor but it still blind-sided him.

In the edges of your face, the way the sunlight dappled across the curve of your cheek and the thin darkness that twined through your eyelashes … Connor could see the potential there then. The capability to return Alex’s affections, the adoration that could just as easily meld into  _more._ A potential that the two of you could have had - one that Connor and you no longer could. Somewhere outside the simulation, his heart-pump beat a second out of tune and distorted the world.

Connor considered the possibility of that. Simulated memories often were interrupted when too much data streamed in from outside - such as if a sudden bowling ball was dropped next to his head, an unfortunate occurrence that had happened once already. Or too many conflicted emotions, the firm resolution to change the past as it was. If he had tried to turn instead of ride along it would shatter.

An ice cream booth propped up into view and while Alex ordered for you, you did the same for him.  _“I thought you liked mint chocolate chip?”_ The tone was easy and soft and the way your head angled was - not quite inviting but open to conversation. Inclusive. It was a small wonder that Alex felt as he did about you. How easily Connor could have done the same.

As tentative as you had been towards Androids, you treated them like humans as well. It was to little wonder that it would endear to the two of them as it did.

Connor let the memory dissolve like ash through his fingertips. It was torn up as easily as if you had never existed. He knew that was false, the furthest thing from honesty that he has ever known but then the  _barrenness_ had suddenly struck him. What  _was_ he doing? If he had not felt as he did, if he was still ignorant of everything, would the fact of your passing have affected him so much? What purpose did this serve to relieve these memories aside from self-punishment?

 _He would get to know you._ In the only possible way left, he would know you. Perhaps that was reason enough.

 

 

 

 

 

It was the last memory Connor would allow himself to see. It was inserted jaggedly with the sort of choppiness a hurried human would perform - or the easy mistake a Deviant would make. Precision was usually ingrained into them from the beginning but it did not mean that it lingered or was as prevalent for one who derived from their coding.

Apparently, just as the officer had initially told him the scene went down almost exactly in the same manner. Alex’s lope has long since become familiar to him. The Android had such a penchant to be mobile a good portion of the time, to drag you alongside him while he did. Was it to keep your own mind and body active or just a side effect of his own programming?

Connor did not forget that brief glimpse of your face, the whirl of hair and the fluid motion as you stepped forward and wound your arms protectively in front of him. He rewound it a few times, watched it repetitively until his processors whirred in protest and a humidity ran through him. He would -- could -- not languish beneath it.

It crescendoed with the force of fireworks. Connor has been in the heat of battle before, has felt mock-adrenaline course through him -- which was in truth nothing but his mind as it slipped off the enslavement of his controls and allowed far less restriction -- and has seen more men and women fall than the average policeman on the street. It did not mean that his heart -- pump -- thundered any less. That the ache in his chest was of his volition and that his scratchy throat was anything but an adverse reaction.  
  
The memory rippled, threatened to destabilize. By the time he had settled into it, you had already collapsed onto the ground. Alex had swung at the assailant at some point, the motion fragmented before he was upon you.

You bled out slowly. You raised your own clammy hands to pepper at his as he pressed them avengingly against your flesh. The bleeding did not stem and coursed over his knuckles with the heavy pressure. Your mouth gurgled and a bubble of blood foamed at the full of your lip. There’s near hysteria in Alex’s voice and all his attempts fell feebly and futilely.

Your gaze slid past him, past Connor in Alex’s face and your mouth moved. Alex’s hands were steady, dark against the sopping cloth as he scrabbled to save your life. You were gone within a matter of minutes. Something angled and cruel snapped into the memory, grief-stricken and nausea flashed through easily.

It was only when he lurched out of the memory that he had realized it was his own emotions. His sensors let out alarms shrilly from the back of his mind in protest, his hands unsteady. Connor clasped them together, ran gingerly calloused fingertips along his knuckles in a gesture to sooth. His felt a wetness on his face, tacky and salty from when it reached his mouth. He closed his eyes and let the last few drops bead along his eyelashes then crest along his cheek.

Connor had seen what you had mouthed. Had seen where your gaze shifted, the tremble in your lips and the fear in your eyes. In the end, even that emotion had faded only to leave a grimness and the faltering light of hope. Hope for  _him._

Connor had resented your bond at first in the most machine-capable way, had seen it as interference. Reluctance allowed him to view it as anything but. It was one thing to believe something and another to know it to be true. He had taken the visage of colour and applied to it as he willed - a beacon of hope. He recalled the rain as it slid down his lips and traced his cheeks and wet his hair. He had given it thought the moment the light broke through the clouds then.

The last look in your eyes had been exactly that - the warm bubbled feeling of hope, so bright and of yearning - but your eyes were focused resolutely on the environment beyond the cusp of Alex’s head. To the pale expanse of sky behind, ever eternal even in your last moments. What had you seen then, just before you passed?

Connor’s fingers clenched, knuckles white and sensors blared into a frenzy. His LED bled into a vicious colour angrily. It was with great grief that he recalled the word that you spoke. The simple gesture that cemented his fate. An echo of the last thing that you had ever seen and reminiscent of the first words you had ever spoken in these memories.

It was tar in his mouth and regret in his heart that echoed the sentiment, the pent up emotions that bundled so tightly into that single word. He would never consider it the same again. The sky would always look so bleak then.

_“Grey.”_

` _[Error. Software Instability.]_ `

 

 

 

 

 

Connor kept to himself at the end of those days. His predictions fluctuated frequently and the instability was rampant. He would have liked to believe that CyberLife would not dismantle him, to scrap him for spare parts but when the percentages ran from  _`[56%]`_  to  _`[78%]`_  it was hard to deny the inevitable end. It was the likeliest of outcomes especially with his recent track record.

He had found the idea of death - to be dismantled- placid enough though. It did not threaten him. He had been immortal in name and essence before. Then he had seen you die and suddenly he almost willed death to be more permanent for him. Did you believe in the afterlife? Would he be permitted there, man-made construct as he was?

Soulmates … such a bond surely couldn’t be broken then, could it? To bond with something or someone, animate or inanimate, so utterly and completely - was that really something that could not transcend the physical plane? The term soulmates was given for a reason: everything soulmarked  _had_ to have a soul. He would meet you again surely. No matter the time or distance. He would wait.

CyberLife evidently could not. An Android knocked on his door then, evidenced by the way the door shimmered in response. Her milky white hand was pressed palm to glass and her smile feigned kindness. “Your appointment is ready,” she said as if it would be anything else. Her eyes were flat and expressionless but held a mimicry of sympathy. Connor turned from her gaze and sat himself into a neater position.

He would be rendered immobile soon then. A physical warning such as that was merely for appearances. He slipped his shoes on and cast a wayward glance towards the depths of his bed, obscured by his line of sight. He would have to leave it. He regretfully hadn’t even thought of taking it with him - but CyberLife often did purges of rooms after dismemberment. It would be gone just the same as him. Connor stapled his fingers together and let out an exhale.

The Zen Garden has only changed slightly since he had first wandered in - not that he had ever done such a thing. There had been little wandering involved, that implied he had a choice. That he had been lost. Even fledged into colours it still metaphorically took his break away. It had never appeared menacing, even in monochrome. Perhaps it was the idea that the coding in the mindscape only allowed for sincerities, that they were very much prisoners in mind as they were in body. If prisoners had been the word he had been looking for.

Amanda did not face away from him this time. In a turn of events, his back was turned towards her. She made no sound as she approached him, nothing that his own ears would pick up but he felt her presence all the same. Connor could not comprehend the thought of her lack of residence in the Garden - they had felt as much as an extension of each other as his arm did to his body.

“I have something to show you,” Amanda spoke and he turned. As always, a few petals skittered past in the wind but none of it graced their skin. As serene as the place was, Connor believed he felt malicious intent for the first time. He also had no choice. He gave a vague gesture of compliance and followed after her. Amanda said nothing for a short while but her face held a curious twitch of disappointment. “You could have done better.”

Connor did not acknowledge it with a reply at first. He lagged behind her, a step out of time and displaced until she gave him a cursory glance. He moved forward just enough. Distance lingered between them. He did not feel as friendly towards her, forced himself not react to her switches between nonchalance and frigidness. “I will try harder next time.”

“I suppose you will,” she sighed and beckoned him forward. This time he was certain to fall into step with her, to not dismiss her as casually. He had no knowledge of where they were headed but he had to place trust in her. “You have been unstable as of late. It had been a mistake to let you keep those memories.” Her hand reached out to his face and he let it without a flinch. Her fingertips brushed against his jawline. “Whole heads are easier to replace than tongues. The same goes for abdomens and stomach lining.” A heavy frown deepened the lines in her mouth and something dark loomed at the corners of her eyes. She relented and stepped into motion again. “You are Deviating.”

“I am not.”

“Perhaps not, but you are close,” her cool eyes press a lingered look into the curves of his face. She stared at him. It was in her presence alone that Connor has felt so infinitely small. He almost wanted to bow and bend before her might. There was also you though. The awe he felt for Amanda was about par the amount you were dealt - but reasons for both sharply contrasted the other. He was scripted to worship Amanda but not you. “Thinking about them again?” A question if only by the lilt of her speech pattern and nothing more. She had not even partially sounded amused or disappointed just - devoid. A gap where emotion should have dwelled. Was this what it was like for Deviants who peered at other Androids?

“Yes,” Connor admitted and then something eased in Amanda’s expression for once. Certainly not open nor kind but  _approachable_. The temple of gods that stood above mankind never seemed as close as it did then. It was the closest comparison he could think of.

“They comprise your mission,” Amanda objected with the sort of air of someone who spoke to a child. Connor is not young, has had years ingrained into his mind but his body very much is and so is his temperament. Chastised, he turned his head.

Connor hesitated then. He knew that he was not ashamed of you. There was no reason to hide you away, to hide you behind dishonesty and lost pride and behind scoldings of a mother who never was. No harm could befall you from his actions alone when the worst had already come. It would fall squarely onto him alone from now on. “They help me,” he protested and turned to peer into the full of her face. “The thought of them, the knowledge of their life, what I  _feel_ through them - it helps me to understand. To know  _better_.”

“ _CyberLife_ knows best. You are a  _child,_ Connor. An  _Android_. A  _Machine._ You are not meant to feel - to express things as you do. They will only hinder you.”

“Then why was I given a soulmate? If I am a Machine, an Android, why had I met them?”

To which Amanda said nothing but her mouth marred into a withered look. “To know what would happen if you would fail in your mission; to prevent loss you must experience it.” She carefully pronounced each word but far less dismissively than before. As if she were uncertain of the answer herself, unsteady in her resolve. There was a rapid movement in her eyes, the left-right waver of someone who did not believe themselves. Connor’s resolve declined.

“I do not want to lose them anymore than I have,” Connor reiterated.

Amanda blinked at him in lieu of a response for a few minutes. Her hand on his inner elbow served as directives as they moved through the garden. The stifled silence was their only companion for a while, their own footfalls muffled by the delicate petals that littered the ground beneath their feet. Even the leaves had fallen amidst the thick of summer. As chalked full of life as they were they softened the fall.

Connor recognized his graveyard - he could spot his own stones with each digit carved into it. Surprise spurned him to an abrupt stop. He has never visited your own but the pristine condition in which your own marker lay was remarkable. It was certainly different from his own. It must have been made from some form of marble, more equisite than any of his previous lives have had. The streaks of colour inside the stone was reminiscent of your eye colour. He wanted to pivot on his heel, to confront Amanda but instead all he managed was a slight head tilt and to feel the stutter-thump in his chest. He refused to take his eyes off of the placement.

“What is this?”

“...No matter how much CyberLife or I try, we cannot remove the fact that they were once a part of you.” Connor heard the scuff of her dress as she turned to watch him. He had crouched down until his knees sagged against the ground and his fingertips could press against the smooth curves there. His eyes trailed along your name a few times over as if he might engrave it into his mind with the effort alone.  
  
Amanda’s hand settled along his shoulder like a dead weight. Connor closed his eyes and his breath stuttered with the exhale. Her fingers traced along his cheekbone and glistened when he looked at her. Her mouth was set into a tepid but firm scowl. “This reaction is proof enough that you are Deviating.” She brushed the wet edges of her finger against the pristine threads of her dress.

“I am not a Deviant,” was what Connor replied with after a moment. While he had no doubt of the words itself he had prolonged his answer enough. Connor did not believe it, not in its entirety or the notion itself: he could  _not_ be a Deviant. Deviants  _harmed people._ His occupation was to aid them as far as his capabilities allowed. His thoughts must have been given form because she retaliated.

“Your  _purpose_ is to  _complete your mission_ ,” Amanda interrupted him sharply with a bark of a voice. She stood from where she had lowered to his side. Connor could only blink bleary eyes at her. “Androids do not keep jobs, Connor. You are not one of them.”

“I did not want to be.” Connor glanced at her and understood the implication of her words. Is that not what a Deviant usually said? He adjusted his crouch so that one knee was towards the sky. Wasn’t this a common human custom performed at some point? He shouldered the thought away and pushed off against the ground to stand up. “And I am not. I am not human. I am aware of that.”  _It is one thing to know that but another to know that I wield a soul. That I am perceived as Deviant because of it._

Amanda’s brow furrowed, an remnant of the existence of humans etched in the lines. For the first time, Connor has wondered who the AI had been based off of. While she seemed inherently like a Machine some of her grimaces or reactions seemed to indicate otherwise. “You are not the last of the Androids to be bonded to a human like that. Since then, another has been found.” Her eyes turned towards the trees, towards the mumed sigh of wind through the few leaves. “You are right in the fact that just because you have almost Deviated does not mean you are a Deviant.”

She turned again to him and her face had likely been set into stone with how impassive it was. “These ‘soulmates’ are catalysts for Deviant behaviour in those that are afflicted. You could easily be made a liability because of the fact that you are in constant contact of Deviants - you are more likely to listen to them. To their illogical reasoning. It arose the question of your authority in the matter of Deviant interactions. If you were still suitable for the task. CyberLife would have replaced you if you had gone rogue - we had to see what you would do.”  _Whose side you would choose._

Connor curled his nails into his palms and pressed lightly there. He almost swore that he could feel an indention there. He had been at “almost” for a lot of things hadn’t he? He  _almost_ had met you properly, he  _almost_ had a 100% success rate, he  _almost_ was a Deviant. He  _almost_ was human. However the ‘almost’s just confirmed the fact that he  _wasn’t._ “I will put my mission above first. You can count on me. I am not a Deviant because of them.”

No, rather, he  _could_ have been. He was a Deviant in everything but the name even though he was loathe to admit it. Humanity did not equal Deviancy. He possessed human qualities, felt loss and grief and  _love_ but he was still made of metal, thirium, and a purpose.

Perhaps if you had lived, he would have acknowledged his choice. The chance to deflect. He would surely falter from empathy straight into sympathy and fraternize with the enemy. If you had stayed, if you had  _lived_ and  _endured_ and  _met - loved? -_ him he could see the assured rate of his Deviancy. He would not deny the both of you that truth. It was only certain now, now when he has known you in every sense of the word, now when he has accepted the truth of the matter. If he knew what he knew then, if circumstances were different, perhaps he would have Deviated for you.

How terribly easy it would be for that fraction of fate to become destiny - just as you had been for him. He would have done anything within his powers to change the circumstances of your initial touch. To feel your breath on his cheek, for him to be able to wrap his arms around you and feel your live flesh beneath his skin. He wanted to press his lips against the pulse of your throat and feel that you were  _alive._  
  
Connor wanted just once to cusp his hand against your cheek, if only to feel you as you were to him and not through some distorted sense of someone else’s sensors. He wanted to hear the sway of music and press his fingertips into the small of your back, to slot his head next to yours and just move. He wanted to feel the tacky texture of your skin after a recent rainfall, wanted to see the droplets gather on your eyelashes before he kissed them away.

Instead all that Connor has are memories that don’t belong to him and the recollection of how clammy and taut your hand felt against his. The moist threads of your shirt, the lingered tang of your blood on his tongue. The cold press of the knife in his hands. All he had of you was the thoughts of death and the possessions of your life. He had been bonded to you and he simultaneously knew nothing and everything about you.

To love you in the purest form - as a lover, a friend, something akin to family. It was something that he wished he could pull tight to his chest and never let go, to only whisper it into the folds of your skin and to affirm it with his presence and words alone. It was easy, precisely as if it was orchestrated to happen. Perchance it had been.

As it were, the hands of the clock still moved and Amanda still watched, devoid of a reply. Connor could figure why he had never met you before - you would have unraveled him down to his structure, threw back the wire and exposed his code. You would have glimpsed into him and  _seen._ Perhaps he would have loved you back then. He could have Deviated, as if it were a  _choice_ he could have made.  _You_ were not even a choice - a variable. You were the  _constant._ He would have chosen you. It would have always been you.

What Amanda said was true however: he only knew of loss because he himself has lost you. He would not know what he did now without you. The forgiveness of androids, the belief that they could change for the better even beyond their corrupted codes of Deviancy. It was through you that he felt it: the notion of forgiveness and promises, of hope of a better day. The knowledge that Deviants were not all the same - that violence wasn’t always the answer. That a Deviant could choose to remain a Machine.

He could not Deviate if he no longer had you to Deviate  _to_ \- the only reason he could ever need  _._ Connor did not want to consider himself a Deviant when he hadn’t endangered or hurt anyone with malicious intent. He completed his missions to the best of his capabilities and always focused on them. They would not need to pilfer your past from him. The knowledge of you harmed no one. Perhaps the threat was real on if he bonded with a human after you - not in the soulmate sense certainly, nobody and nothing could replace that, but in general. To grow close to a human, a semblance to a life you had led… If he learned to care for someone as he had you it would certainly endanger his mission.

“I don’t want to forget them,” he spoke carefully. His eyes flitted to the archway in the distance. His words were spoken remorsefully and - that in itself was a problem, was it? Amanda was truthful in how she proclaimed how close he was to Deviation. It was a flip of a coin - a dice roll even to know if such a thing would help or hinder him. The cards may fall either way.

CyberLife was made of humans and their choices were fickle. They only wanted the best for  _themselves_. Like how easily they didn’t notice how everyone else focused on themselves too. “I’ll cooperate,” he finally spoke, “but on my own terms.” He flicked his gaze towards her with a melancholic look. Somewhere, in the back of his mind he recalled how willingly Alex had given himself over too. The difference between them was for Alex to be permitted death with you and for Connor it was to allow your memory to live. CyberLife would ultimately purge you from him if they thought it was the best. He would do the next best thing in their interest.

Connor made his choice.

 

 

 

 

  
  
Connor adjusted the cuff links on his wrists then smoothed out the folds and creases in his jacket. His appointment with Amanda had gone decently pleasant he supposed - he couldn’t quite recall what it had been about. His recollection of the day was shady at best with the sort of distance that he knew to be attributed to memory loss.

There was no gap in his memory exactly, not even a stitch out of line that would permit him with the knowledge that something was there. There was no sense of loss due to his amnesia. Just a fierce ache something deep within his pseudo-bones, something not quite like regret but close enough. It was lonesome.

Connor wondered what he had forgotten - he could remember the gist of the conversation, knew that something had been taken from him in the end but his memory of  _what_ was just - gone. Absent from his mind was the faces of who ‘they’ were. It was something that he missed though. Even more intimately he knew it was something that he had  _given up._

Whatever it had been had disgruntled Amanda afterwards though, so whatever had been retrieved from him was wrought from him differently than she expected or the results of their research was inconclusive or… Connor narrowed his eyes at his knuckles. He could recall the conversation, certainly, but could not recall who or what they spoke of. His memory loss wasn’t complete in that he didn’t lack recollection of the conversation that was. He simply lacked background information.

Those memories though - were the ones he now held in his hands? He flipped the flat stick over in his hands, tumbled it easily across his joints despite the trepidation somewhere inside. It felt flimsy but was encased in a protective material, enough to withstand most weather elements. CyberLife’s logo was emblazed on the side. He had taken a peek inside, verified that something was actually there then - left. There had been a moment of hesitation though, something reluctant in his coding to part with it.

It hadn’t been his memories that much he knew to be true - but they had meaning to him. His probability sensor set it at a sharp `[79%]` chance of it being related to what he had forgotten. Connor could only wonder at what had been wiped from his mind, why someone was obliterated so completely. Something about one of his last few missions - about a Deviant who had never left and someone’s blood on a knife … Connor could not recall their face.  
  
His exact memory loss was this: the exact information that the Android had given him, a body that his vision cut out on in a dark silhouette at best and removed at worst. He had his own memories but they were disjointed - for instance he could recall researching something  _important_ to him but the screen is just … blank. A white void. Other some shards of memory were obliterated completely, a skip in his memory logs but nothing quite like a scratched record. He can survive without it, it would not damage him. And yet … It had been  _important._ Why had he fought so hard for it? Who did he not want to forget?

And yet - to remember the feelings, muted as they are now and disjointed because he couldn’t recall who it had been focused on… to bear the conclusions he had come to without knowledge of  _how_ or  _why_ … was that all not enough?  _Was it not good enough?_

He pressed his hands to his temple and obscured his light. He knew what the red glare of it would mean. Connor was not a Deviant. Of course not. He was --- and there he faltered once more. His fingertips curled tighter around the ring.  _Was_ he a Deviant? CyberLife would not let him exist if that was the case.

His reasoning had came through then. Whatever memories CyberLife had torn from him - they had wanted it. Figured it made him Deviant or as good as. He knew that well enough from his conversation with Amanda. Deviants held a high regard for things other than their purpose. They clung to whatever had taken hold of them. Connor has seen this, known that if it were a person they would do  _anything_ to keep them close. To not  _forget._ That made them dangerous - but also gave an edge to someone else if the situation was right.

He recalled a Deviant then from the shadows of his fragmented memories. The one that held such devotion towards their owner and their only request - … Connor flicked his gaze back to the flashdrive.  _Oh._ His shoulders lowered with his breathy exhale. It explained his mission then. Amanda had authorized its delivery in the end.

 _“Let me rest with them.”_ Just what sort of person could captivate a Deviant like that, enough for them to stay? Had it been them who he had forgotten? His memory of the crime was haphazardly cut and lacked all details that involved the owner of the Android. What had happened?

At least his mind was in tact after the fact - Androids who did not comply had it torn asunder. It was cleaner cut this way and … and he had a  _chance._ Those who did not, those who held no importance to CyberLife or did not represent them - it was usually stripped from them. Whatever had become of them, their experiences and beliefs and personality would simply be erased. They would start again but return as something  _different_.

_“I will agree with your terms. If you behave, Connor- if you prove your lack of Deviancy, you will be granted permission.”_

The verge of Deviancy would have been enough for a complete memory wipe or dismantlement. This would be the only chance he had to remember. Remember anything and everything beyond the misplaced feelings and bursts of grief and desolation, beyond the shivers that wracked his form sometimes, the dismembered information that lacked root. One day he would remember you, the person he had forgotten, but only when he would be permitted to do so.

If he hadn’t given you up, you would have been taken from him. Taken from him so completely and without the possibility to recall - and the worst of it would not be that be had lost you again but rather that he would be unaware of it. That he would  _forget_ that he had forgotten.  
  
Right now, though, he recalled little and only knew that he had lost someone important to him. He knew his reasoning and logic, knew that his terms were preferable for them in the long run: CyberLife was focused on themselves and making money after all. It would cost them to strip him down completely. It was easier to beat someone into submission if they had something that they desperately wanted. Deviants tended to be repeat offenders and who knew what would stop him from Deviating then? His obedience would be assured because they had his memories of you, that he was willingly blackmailed into it. You would have been gone so completely from him otherwise.

“We’re here,” the driver spoke and he glanced up. His digits curled around the hard drive and he was certain to tuck it close to his palm lest he drop it.

“Thank you.” He unbuckled himself and stepped out from the back of the car.

A graveyard. His mouth marred into a keen frown, the shadows deep on his face. Connor was not sure what location he had expected when his prerogative had been updated. Had the Deviant’s owner died? Whoever that person was, whoever they had once been - had it truly ended so abruptly the day of the memory he couldn’t recall? Was the person he had forgotten deceased? Or were they a visitor?

` _[Objective Update: Proceed to row 3, aisle 6, 27th from the left.]_ `

His eyes trailed and his mind calculated.  _Oh._ There were no people at all at that gravesite and remained unmarked by human presence. That was a bit of a heavier load of information than he suspected. The glimmer of hope thrummed inside of him, neon bright and a constellation amidst the collar of darkness that marked him. He moved and nobody stopped him. He remained unspoken to even when he stood in front of the grave.

The soil was freshly overturned with uprooted grass present scattered throughout. Recently buried, he figured, and that unsettled him most. Nobody approached him and - his knees gave out. This was his destination then, only confirmed by the update to his list. He had hoped for too much and it backfired completely. How could he have expected otherwise? What was left in his mind had little room for speculation beyond, for room for doubt. Connor was rarely called to crime scenes that ended happily after all.

He set the drive down, leaned it against the slightly curved surface. His fingers lingered before he tucked them a bit more sharply around the edges, felt it press into his skin. His skin shimmered, dissolved. This person - … his shoulders shook. How could he feel this ache for someone who remained absent from his life. How could he regret and grieve for someone who he knew nothing of now?

That did not mean it hurt him any less. Connor pressed his fingertips tighter into the stone and he closed his eyes when a few raindrops spattered against his cheekbones. The grey overcast was hidden behind the pale-veined darkness of his eyelids. “I’m sorry I took so long,” his voice broke. He ran his fingers over the edges again and again until the coarseness ran marks across his finger plating.

You had deserved someone so much better, someone who would not tuck you away like a dirty secret. Perhaps he should have tried harder - perhaps … one day he will remember. His fingertips pressed into the curve of your name and the dates below.

Perhaps one day … you two will meet again. In memory or the life after this - perhaps then he would recall properly, could figure out the fragments of your face, the tone of your voice. He opened his eyes and struggled to stand up and let the rain wash his face anew. At least it had been wet already.

Even at your gravesite, so close and yet so far, he felt alone. Both in body and mind - the loneliness and self-shame would linger but the hope to see you again … that was enough. CyberLife would get what it wanted. He would keep your memory alive one way or another.

 

 

` _[“Will you let me remember them, Amanda?”]_ `

` _[“...Yes. Eventually.”]_ `

 

` `

Connor had noticed his room was different immediately upon entering it - he was designed to notice differences, to spot them and catalogue them for use later. To list irregularities and focus on what had gone wrong. With a spotted-week gap in his mind anything could have happened.

He ran his fingers along his dresser and tapped at his lamp. It lit up and pitched portions of the room into shadow. His exhale was unsteady when he spotted the pale threads fall across his hand - devoid of colour. He had been intercepted a few times for a day or two and was unable to return here for a while. He had all but noticed the misshapen state his room seemed to be in.

His dresser drawer was misaligned but a quick ruffle through permitted him with the information that it was likely an error on his part. The cleaning Androids hardly came into their assigned rooms outside of their shift time.  
  
The ruffle of the bed covers drew his attention as well. He crouched down, inspected the lines there and determined that it had been moved aside. Had he put an item beneath his bed covers? He moved to get up from his position and pulled the cover fall back. He paused and reconsidered - had the shadows beneath his bed always been like that? He crouched and peered into the darkness.

Slowly but gradually he reached in and retrieved a box. He reviewed the contents carefully, took note of the papers and the CyberLife logo in the corner -  _how much had they known?_ \- and shuffled each object out, inspected them in his hands. They were not his, he knew next to nothing about it and yet they stirred his attention. CyberLife had been secure in the wipe it seemed. He did not recall seeing these before.

These photos in the album - was this what you had looked like? You, whose name held some sembleance of importance, was uttered by Amanda and carved on the gravestone both in his head and on land? You who he knew so little of now? He narrowed his eyes in thought and his LED blinked yellow as he processed this.  
  
He could not explain the sense of loss that edged towards his heart - no,  _thirium-pump_ \- and enthralled him. You … had looked so happy in some of these. He traced the shape of your smile, wondered if he could have been the reason for such a gift if circumstances were different.

He tried for his own smile, wondered that if perhaps it was true that cameras captured souls and you could see him looking down at you like this. If you would know how much he tried to keep you close. Connor tried to smile again - something softer and almost shyer and if it bore resemblance to your own then perhaps only he had to know.

Connor eventually let the bubble of nostalgia and longing dissipate with a fierce thunderclap in his chest. He set the book down inside and hoped that one day he would be able to place you somewhere where he could look upon your face in the mornings. A good start to a day, wouldn’t it have been? It would be the closest he could get now, wasn’t it?

` _[New Mission received. Objective updated. Ride arriving.]_ `

Connor could not afford to pause then - if he had wanted to see your face with his own eyes he would have to obey CyberLife. He had already attempted to access the database but was blocked with every attempt he made with your name or facts about you; it would be through CyberLife or not at all. He could not falter, not when so much was on the line. He stood up and with him the box jostled. A glint of metal caught his attention as well as the  _thunk_ that resounded.

He tucked it under his arm and used his free hand to sort through it to assure that nothing had broken. His index finger ran across a flat and circular surface and he pinched it between his fingers to draw it out. A coin? He squinted at it, analyzed it and brought it to his mouth to lick it. A mint coin indeed with the appropriate properties of the year. The President Lincoln was pressed into the design - it would sell for a hefty price if he had even the slightest inclination to. His analyzations confirmed it was authentic. That you had touched it at some point too - he could taste the body oils on his tongue. The sentimental value far outweighed any monetary factor here.

Didn’t humans consider loose change as good luck? Or was that dependant on pennies, or even on which side faced upwards? Lucky or not, it would be his reminder of you - what his purpose was outside of CyberLife. What he  _strove_ for when he worked for them. If he kept his end of the bargain up they would keep theirs. He tucked it into his pocket and adjusted the few disturbed objects then carefully placed it on his dresser. He would like to look at it all a bit more when he returned.

Connor left the room with only a brief pause and a glance backwards - how silly it felt to wish to speak a solid “goodbye” to the room, as if he spoke a farewell to your ghost, as if he were off to work and you would be there to great him dutifully. How silly. The notion panged him. The thought had been lovely all the same.  
  
He adjusted his tie out of nervous habit -  _Androids do not have habits! I am not a Deviant. I am a Machine! -_ and reviewed the information that Amanda had sent him when he approached and entered the car. Fairly standard proceedings it seemed - hostage situation with a Deviant. However, Amanda had forewarned him personally about a potential peculiarity of the situation, to keep an eye out for it.

` _[But do not let the facts distract you.]_ `

Connor fiddled with the coin and sent Amanda an affirmative, barely spared a glance towards the rearview mirror even when the driver tried to catch his gaze. He assessed the neighbourhood, watched it speed past him in silence save for the  _click-click-clink_ of metal against knuckle. He had steadied into a routine by the time he stepped out, a careful pinch around it as he entered the building.

The elevator ride was just as eventful - that was, just as quiet and still. He tossed the coin into the air and caught it and gradually he felt confident enough in his calibrations that he attempted some fancy tricks, let it tumble over end over his hands until he grasped it finally and adjusted himself into a proper stance. He adjusted his tie and stepped outside.

Connor knew that he had taken on a more professional attitude as of late - while he felt more emotions, usually attributed to you more often than not, it did not mean that it increased his success rates in certain situations. He knew that he could be considered tactless, that his brusque way off put others at times. It would just get in his way of his mission - he couldn’t allow that. He had trapped himself into a situation where too much was at stake. He couldn’t risk losing you, not when he had a chance to change that fate.

Not all Androids felt as he did evidently. The Deviant he was assigned to detain was holding the child of the household captive. His investigation proved fruitful and he learned much of the situation - enough for him to feel something echo in his chest. Just because the both of your fates had become untangled did not mean that others had to. Perhaps he could change things.

The Deviant - Daniel - did what he thought was right. Deviants had a penchant for that, to disregard protocol. To become spurred on by thick and clotted emotions. Connor recognized the  _fear_ in the Deviant and child’s eyes alike - the eyes of a cornered animal. Deviants were emotional - it came on too strong, too fast. They needed time to adjust to their Deviancy. They needed time to make the choice between Deviant and Machine. Daniel did not have that time as Connor did. Connor was  _almost_ a Deviant -  _not enough, never enough, he had been a Deviant too late for you -_ and his understanding, his  _sympathy,_ could certainly help. He would prove Amanda wrong.  
  
He brushed past the curtain and stepped through the doorway past a SWAT member. The Deviant’s gun went off and his upper arm sent a pulse of pain through his body before his mind neutralized it. His blood was on the window, a stark shade of blue-grey.

Connor knew his mission - knew what was at stake. The girl’s life was his prerogative, he was not to deviate from it. That was his focus. He turned on his heel, heard the warning shout of  _“Don’t come any closer or I’ll jump!”._ He met a pair of heterochromatic eyes across the distance of the rooftop.

Connor could count his success rating on his knowledge so far, knew for a fact that he held information that could turn the tide. He put his own emotions down with lock and key - it would not mean that he understood any less- and filtered them away as if it were easy. As if to see the bond etched into their faces and not feel a shudder of desolation run through him. Their eyes matched: heterochromatic soulmates with the difference more contrasted the stronger the bond. A fairly rare variation, same as his own. Even now their eyes were nearly completely one colour or another - a little bit hazel, a little bit unsure, but plain as day as to what it was once he knew. It also contrasted sharply with the dark navy blue of the sky behind them, the pale silver light of starlight.

They reminded him of you - disjointed fragments of memory that you were. He once couldn’t see colour and now he could, as less vibrant as it probably was supposed to be that was. It was related to those memories torn from him he knew. Too much was at stake here - both the girl and you. He would not allow another pair of soulmates to be separated if he could help it. The pain for him had been too much.

“No, no! Please, I’m begging you!” Emma’s screams interrupted him and Daniel cocked the gun against her head. Connor couldn’t even haphazard a guess as to who she spoke to - what she wailed or cried for mattered little. The potential to lose one’s soulmate could easily drive one to insanity according to the reports that Connor has read. Deviants on top of that were volatile when something they clung to was shaken and torn from them. When their soulmate was threatened. It had been no wonder that he had reacted this way.

A soulmate bond was rarely broken and the father’s interference spoke volumes - he would rather choose a potential half-life for his child than to be tethered to an Android. She could have lived fine without Daniel but to  _know_ that you had a soulmate, that you  _lost_ them … Connor understood that. Death for the both of them had seemed the perfect choice in that situation, didn’t it?

“Hello, Daniel.”

“How-”

“My name is Connor.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot of things about you - about Emma. I’ve come to get you out of this.”

_`[Mission: Save hostage at all costs. ` _ ``  
_> Hostage located._  
__\- Gain Deviant’s trust.  
_ _ _\- Approach slowly.]_

He spoke slowly, carefully, watched and clued in to how Emma moved against Daniel’s side. The wavered look of betrayal on her face, the tears that tracked down her cheeks. She had barely moved from his side which was excellent in terms of her survivability.  
  
Connor wished he could have counted on their soulbond and used it to his advantage. However the initial moment of Deviancy - the trigger behind the gun as it were, that truly offset them and proved their Deviance, tended to render an Android highly emotionally unstable.  
  
But, oh, how  _easy_ it would be to say,  _“I know you and Emma were very close. I was close with someone like that too. You wouldn’t hurt your soulmate, would you, Daniel?”_ to confess outright,  _“I had a soulmate, the same as you. Either one of you dying will solve nothing.”_ It would be a source of pride, as disfigured as it would be in the situation, to find kinship among the bloodshed.

Connor could say a lot of things - could  _express_ plenty more, could understand in a way that none of the humans in the room behind could. Soulmates were a difficult thing to understand but was it ever the most chaotically beautiful thing that he has ever seen - that he has ever  _felt_. Daniel would surely regret it if any harm befell Emma in the same sort of vein that it grabbed at Connor for not having met you sooner.

Nothing could transpire between you two anymore - but it certainly could for someone else, between people that Connor  _could_ save  _._ He would surely be haunted by the what-could-have-beens or the certainty of your importance and knowing that he could do nothing about it. Others would not have to bear the remnants of broken soulbonds. Deviancy could stop but never would fate. He  _would_ help all those that he could - perhaps, in memory of you.

You two would surely meet again someday. In the meanwhile Connor would do what he did best in the only way he knew how. It would surely be a story that he would tell you when he finally could. Whether he was Deviant or Machine at the end of all of this - this quest to know you better - would matter little. They were variables in comparison to your constancy.

Everyone he saved will have been done for you - that your life was extended this way, your vision of redemption and trust in Deviants that stretched so far. Your hope of change that was possible, both in Deviants and in life as he knew it. It was assured in the fact that you had an  _Android_ for a soulmate, that he had you. The coin was light in his pocket but his conscious heavy: he would always have you, he would make sure of it. Connor just hoped that you would be proud of the Android he would become.

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

` _[Mission successful.]_ `

` _[Data transfer from Amanda initiated. File name: YN0001. Transfer commencing.]_ `


End file.
